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THACKERAY'S    NOVELS. 

EOUSEEOLD    EDITION. 

Messrs.  Tields,  Osgood,  &  Co.  announce  that,  in  compliance  with 
wliut  has  long  been  a  popular  demand,  they  have  prepared  a  uniform 
Household  Editiox  of  Thackeray's  Novels. 

The  universal  approval  and  immediate  success  of  their  recently  issued 
Household  Edition  of  Charles  Reade's  Novels  have  decided  them 
upon  that  form  of  book  as  best  possessing  the  requisites  of 

CJieapiess,  LegiUlitij,  CompadnesSy  and  Elegance. 

The  edition  as  at  present  arranged  consists  of  six  voUimes,  comprising 
Vanity     Pair One  Volume. 

Pendennis 

The   Newcomes      ....         ** 
The  Virginians    ....  « 

The  Adventures  of  Philip  « 

Henry  Esmond         ) 
Lovel  the  Widower) 

Bound  in  green  morocco  cloth,  with  gilt  back  and  sides,  uniform  ■with 
Charles  Reade's  Novels.    Price,  per  vol.,  $  1.25. 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  Publishers. 


THE 


ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  ; 


WHO  ROBBED   HIM,    WHO  HELPED  HIM,   AND    WHO 
PASSED  HIM  BY. 


TO   WHICH   IS   NOW   PREFIXED 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


By  W.   M.   THACKERAY. 


HOUSEHOLD  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fikm)^,  and  FiKt,Ds,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1875. 


UjnvxKStTV  Press  :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co, 
Cambriocb. 


CONTENTS. 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY. 

Chap.  Page 

1 3 

II.   How  Mrs.  Gann  received  two  Lodgers      ...  10 
ill.  A  Shabby  Genteel  Dinner,  and  other  Incidents  of 

A  LIKE  Nature 18 

IV.   In  which  Mr.  Fitch  proclaims  his  Love,  and  Mr.  Bran- 
don  PREPARES    FOR    WaR 27 

V.   Contains  a  great  Deal  of  Complicated  Love-making      32 
VI.   Describes  a  Shabby  Genteel  Marriage  and  more  Love- 
making  41 

VII.  Which  brings  a  great  Number  of  People  to  Margate 

BY  the  Steamboat .46 

VIII.   Which  treats  of  War  and  Love,  and  many  Things  that 

are  not  to  be  understood  in  Chap.  VII.     .         .  50 

IX.   Which  threatens  Death,  but  contains  a  great  Deal 

OF  Mabkyinq 58 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP. 

I.   Doctor  Fell 69 

II.   At  School  and  at  Home 75 

III.   A  Consultation 81 

IVi   A  Genteel  Family 86 

V.   The  Noble  Kinsman 95 

VI.   Brandon's 105 

VII.   Impletur  Veteris  Bacchi 114 

Vin.   Will  be  pronounced  to  be  Cynical  by  the  Benevo- 
lent            123 

IX.   Contains   one  Riddle  which  is  solved,  and  perhaps 

SOME    MORE     .            . 127 

X.   In  which  we  visit  "Admiral  Byng  "        ....  134 

XI.   In  which  Philip  is  very  ill  tempered        .        .        .  141 

XII.   Damocles      .            150 

XIII.  Love 'ME,  love  my  Dog 162 

XI V.  Contains  two  of  Philip's  Mishaps 170 

XV.   Samaritans 182 


iv  CONTENTS. 

XVI.   In  which  Philip  shows  his  Mettle         .        .        .187 

XVII.    Brevis  esse  laboro 200 

XVIII.   Dkuji  ist's  so  wohl  mir  in  der  Welt     .        .        .  207 

XIX.   Qu'o.v  EST  BiEN  A.  VixGT  Ans          .        .        .        .  219 

XX.   Course  of  True  Love 228 

XXI.   Treats  of  Dancing,  Dining,  Dying      .        .        .  238 

XXII.   PuLVis  ET  Umbra  sumus 250 

XXIII.  In   which   we    still    hover    about    the    Elysian 

Fields 256 

XXIV.  Nec  dulces  Amores  sperne,  Puer,  neque  to  Cho- 

reas    268 

XXV.   Infaxdi  Dolores 273 

XXVI.   Contains  a  Tug  op  War 286 

XXVII.   I  charge  you,  Drop  your  Daggers      .        .        .  293 

XXVIII.  In  which  Mrs.  MacWhirter  has  a  Neav  Bonnet  303 
XXIX   In  the  Departments  of  Seine,  Loire,  and   IStyx 

(Inferieuk) 312 

XXX.   Returns  to  Old  Friends 321 

XXXI.   Narrates  that  famous  Joke  about  Miss  Grigsby  331 

XXXII.    Wavs  and  Means 342 

XXXIII.  Describes  a   Situation  interesting  but  not  un- 

expected        350 

XXXIV.  In  which  I  own  that  Philip  tells  an  Untruth  .  356 
XXXV.   Res  Angusta  Domi 368 

XXXVI.  In  which  tub  Drawing-booms  are  not  furnished 

after  all 377 

XXXVII.  Nec  plena  Cruoris  Hirudo    .        .        .        .        .  387 

XXXVIII.   The  Bearer  of  the  Bowstring         ....  395 

-vXXXIX.   In  which  several  People  have  their  Trials   .  405 

XL.   In  which  the  Luck  goes  very  much  against  us  .  409 

XLI.   In  which  we  reach  the  last  Stage   but  one  op 

THIS  Journey 423 

XLJI.  The  Realms  of  Bliss 427 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


When  the  "  Shabby  Genteel  Story  "  was  first  reprinted  with  other  stories 
and  sketches  by  Mr.  Thackeray,  collected  together  under  the  title  of  "  Mis- 
cellanies," the  following  note  was  appended  to  it :  — 

It  was  my  intention  to  complete  the  little  story,  of  which  only  the  first  part  is 
here  written.  Perhaps  novel-readers  will  understand,  even  from  the  above  chap- 
ters, what  was  to  ensue.  Caroline  was  to  be  disowned  and  deserted  bj'  her  wicked 
husband:  that  abandoned  man  was  to  marry  somebody  else:  hence,  bitter  trials 
and  grief,  patience  and  virtue,  for  poor  little  Caroline,  and  a  melancholy  ending, 
—  as  how  should  it  have  been  gay  ?  The  tale  was  interrupted  at  a  sad  period  of 
the  writer's  own  life.  The  colors  are  long  since  dry;  the  artist's  hand  is  changed. 
It  is  best  to  leave  the  sketch,  as  it  was  when  first  designed  seventeen  years  ago. 
The  memory  of  the  past  is  renewed  as  he  looks  at  it,  — 

die  Bilder  froher  Tage 
Und  manche  Hebe  Schatlen  steigen  auf. 

W.  M.  T. 
London,  April  10, 1857. 

Mr.  Brandon,  a  principal  character  in  this  story,  figures  prominently  in 
"  The  Adventures  of  Philip,"  under  his  real  name  of  Brand  Firmin ;  Mrs. 
Brandon,  his  deserted  wife,  and  her  father,  Mr.  Gann,  are  also  introduced ; 
therefore  the  "  Shabby  Genteel  Story  "  is  now  prefixed  to  "  The  Adventures 
of  Philip." 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOEY. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AT  that  remarkable  period  when 
Louis  XVIII.  was  restored  a 
second  time  to  the  throne  of  his 
fathers,  and  all  the  English  who  had 
money  or  leisure  rushed  over  to  the 
Continent,  there  lived  in  a  certain 
boarding-house  at  Brussels  a  genteel 
young  widow,  who  bore  the  elegant 
name  of  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macarty. 

In  the  same  house  and  room  with 
the  widow  lived  her  mamma,  a  lady 
who  was  called  Mrs.  Crabb.  Both 
professed  to  be  rather  fashionable 
people.  The  Crabbs  were  of  a  very 
old  English  stock,  and  the  Macartys 
were,  as  the  world  knows.  County 
Cork  people ;  related  to  the  Sheenys, 
Finnigans,  Clancys,  and  other  distin- 
guished families  in  their  part  of  Ire- 
land. But  Ensign  Wellesley  Mac, 
not  having  a  shilling,  ran  off  with 
Miss  Crabb,  who  possessed  the  same 
independence ;  and  after  having  been 
married  about  six  months  to  the 
lady,  was  carried  off  suddenly,  on  the 
18th  of  June,  1815,  by  a  disease  very 
prevalent  in  those  glorious  times, — 
the  fatal  cannon-shot  morbus.  He, 
and  many  hundred  young  fellows  of 
his  regiment,  the  Clonakilty  Fencibles, 
were  attacked  by  this  epidemic  on  the 
same  day,  at  a  place  about  ten  miles 
from  Brussels,  and  there  perished. 
The  ensign's  lady  had  accompanied 
her  husband  to  the  Continent,  and 
about  five  months  after  his  death 
brought  into  the  world  two  remark- 
ably fine  female  children. 

Mrs.  Wellesley's  mother  had  been 


reconciled  to  her  daughter  by  thi« 
time,  —  for,  in  truth,  Mrs.  Crabb  had 
no  other  child  but  her  runaway  Juli- 
ana, to  whom  she  flew  when  she  heard 
of  her  destitute  condition.  And,  in- 
deed, it  was  high  time  that  some  one 
should  come  to  the  young  widow's 
aid ;  for  as  her  husband  did  not  leave 
money,  nor  anything  that  represented 
money,  except  a  number  of  tailors' 
and  boot-makers'  bills,  neatly  docket- 
ed, in  his  writing-desk,  Mrs.  Welles- 
ley was  in  danger  of  starvation, 
should  no  friendly  person  assist  her. 

Mrs.  Crabb,  then,  came  off  to  her 
daughter,  whom  the  Sheenys,  Finni- 
gans, and  Clancys  refused,  with  one 
scornful  voice,  to  assist.  The  fact  is, 
that  Mr.  Crabb  had  once  been  butler 
to  a  lord,  and  his  lady  a  lady's-maid ; 
and  at  Crabb's  death,  Mrs.  Crabb 
disposed  of  the  "  Ram "  hotel  and 
posting-house,  where  her  husband  had 
made  three  thousand  pounds,  and  wa3 
living  in  genteel  ease  in  a  country  town, 
when  Ensign  Macarty  came,  saw,  and 
ran  away  with  Juliana.  Of  such  a 
connection,  it  was  impossible  that  the 
great  Clancys  and  Finnigans  could 
take  notice  ;  and  so  once  more  Widow 
Crabb  was  compelled  to  share  with 
her  daughter  her  small  income  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  a  year. 

Upon  this,  at  a  boarding-house  in 
Brussels,  the  two  managed  to  live 
pretty  smartly,  and  to  maintain  an 
honorable  reputation.  The  twins 
were  put  out,  after  the  foreign  fashion, 
to  nurse,  at  a  village  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  for  Mrs.  Macarty  had  been  too 
ill  to  nurse  them;  and  Mrs.  Crabb 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


could  not  afford  to  purchase  that 
most  expensive  article,  a  private  wet- 
nurse. 

There  had  been  numberless  tiffs 
and  quarrels  between  mother  and 
daughter  when  the  latter  was  in  her 
maiden  state ;  and  Mrs.  Crabb  was, 
to  tell  the  truth,  in  no  wise  sorry  when 
her  Jooly  disappeared  with  the  en- 
sign, —  for  the  old  lady  dearly  loved 
a  gentleman,  and  was  not  a  little  flat- 
tered at  being  the  mother  to  Mrs. 
Ensign  Macarty.  Why  the  ensign 
should  have  run  away  with  his  lady 
at  all,  as  he  might  have  had  her  for 
the  asking,  is  no  business  of  ours ; 
nor  are  we  going  to  rake  up  old 
stories  and  village  scandals,  which 
insinuate  that  Miss  Crabb  ran  away 
with  him,  for  with  these  points  the 
writer  and  the  reader  have  nothing  tf 
do. 

Well,  then,  the  reconciled  mother" 
and  daughter  lived  once  more  togeth- 
er, at  Brussels.  In  the  course  of  a 
year,  Mrs.  Macarty's  sorrow  h»d  much 
abated ;  and  having  a  great  natural 
love  of  dress,  and  a  tolerabf.y  hand- 
some face  and  person,  sha  was  in- 
duced, without  much  reluoiance,  to 
throw  her  weeds  aside,  and  to  appear 
in  the  most  becoming  &nd  varied 
costumes  which  her  meaas  and  in- 
genuity could  furnish.  Considering, 
indeed,  the  smallness  of  the  former, 
it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  Mrs. 
Crabb  and  her  daughter  deserved 
wonderful  credit,  —  that  is,  they 
managed  to  keep  up  as  respectable  an 
appearance  as  if  they  had  five  hun- 
dred a  year ;  and  at  church,  at  tea- 
parties,  aud  abroad  in  the  streets,  to 
be  what  is  called  quite  the  gentle- 
women. If  they  starved  at  home, 
nobody  saw  it;  if  they  patched  and 
pieced,  nobody  (it  was  to  be  hoped) 
knew  it ;  if  they  bragged  about  their 
relations  and  property,  could  any  one 
say  them  nay  ?  Thus  they  lived, 
hanging  on  with  desperate  energy  to 
the  skirts  of  genteel  society;  Mrs. 
Crabb,  a  sharp  woman,  rather  re- 
spected her  daughter's  superior  rank ; 
and  Mrs.  Macarty  did  not  quarrel  so 


much  as  heretofore  with  her  mamma, 
on  whom  herself  and  her  two  children 
were  entirely  dependent. 

While  affairs  were  at  this  juncture, 
it  happened  that  a  young  Englishman} 
James  Gann,  Esq.,  of  the  great  oil- 
house  of  Gann,  Blubbery,  and  Gann 
(as  he  took  care  to  tell  you  before  you 
had  been  an  hour  in  his  company), 
—  it  happened,  I  say,  that  James 
Gann,  Esq.,  came  to  Brussels  for  a 
month,  for  the  purpose  of  perfecting 
himself  in  the  French  language  ;  and 
while  in  that  capital  went  to  lodge  at 
the  very  boarding-house  which  con- 
tained Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter. 
Gann  was  young,  weak,  inflammable ; 
he  saw  and  adored  Mrs.  Wellesley 
Macarty;  and  she,  who  was  at  this 
period  all  but  engaged  to  a  stout  old 
wooden-legged  Scotch  regimental  sur- 
geon, pitilessly  sent  Dr.  M'Lint  about 
his  business,  and  accepted  the  ad- 
dresses of  Mr.  Gann.  How  the  young 
man  arranged  matters  with  his  papa 
the  senior  partner,  I  don't  know  ;  but 
it  is  certain  that  there  was  a  quarrel, 
and  afterwards  a  reconciliation ;  and 
it  is  also  known  that  James  Gann 
fought  a  duel  with  the  surgeon,  — 
receiving  the  iEsculapian  Are,  and 
discharging  his  own  bullet  into  the 
azure  skies.  About  nine  thousand 
times  in  the  course  of  his  after  years 
did  Mr.  Gann  narrate  the  history  of 
the  combat;  it  enabled  him  to  go 
through  life  with  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  courage,  and  won  for  him,  as 
he  said  with  pride,  the  hand  of  his 
Juliana;  perhaps  this  was  rather  a 
questionable  benefit. 

One  part  of  the  tale,  however,  honest 
James  never  did  dare  to  tell,  except 
when  peculiarly  excited  by  wrath  or 
litjuor ;  it  was  this :  that  on  the  day  after 
the  wedding,  and  in  the  presence  of 
many  friends  who  had  come  to  offer 
their  congratulations,  a  stout  nurse, 
bearing  a  brace  of  chubby  little  ones, 
made  her  appearance  ;  and  these  rosy 
urchins,  springing  forward  at  the  sij^ht 
of  Mrs.  James  Gann,  shouted  affec- 
tionately, "Maman!  maman  I "  at 
which  the  lady,   blushing  rosy   red, 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 


said,  "  James,  these  two  are  yours  "  ; 
mill  poor  Jiunes  welliii^li  f'aintea  at  this 
siid(len  paternity  so  ])ut  upon  him. 
"  Ciiildren  !  "  sereaniud  he,  aghast ; 
"  wiiose  children  ?  "  at  wliieh  Mrs. 
Crabb,  majestically  checking  him, 
said,  "  These,  my  dear  James,  are 
the  daughters  of  the  gallant  and  good 
Ensign  Macarty,  whose  widow  you 
yesterday  led  to  the  altar.  May  you 
be  happy  with  her,  and  may  these 
blessed  children  "  (tears)  "  find  in  you 
a  father,  who  shall  replace  him  that 
fell  in  the  field  of  glory  !  " 

Mrs.  Crabb,  Mrs.  James  Gann, 
Mrs.  Major  Lolly,  Mrs.  Piffler,  and 
several  ladies  present,  set  up  a  sob 
immediately;  and  James  Gann,  a 
good-humored,  soft-hearted  man,  was 
quite  taken  aback.  Kissing  his  lady 
hurriedly,  he  vowed  that  he  would 
take  care  of  the  poor  little  things,  and 
proposed  to  kiss  them  likewise ;  which 
caress  the  darlings  refused  with  many 
roars.  Gann's  fate  was  sealed  from 
that  minute  ;  and  he  was  properly 
henpecked  by  his  wife  and  his  mother- 
in-law  during  the  life  of  the  latter. 
Indeed,  it  was  to  Mrs.  Crabb  that  the 
stratagem  of  the  infant  concealment 
was  due ;  for  when  her  daughter  in- 
nocently proposed  to  have  or  to  see 
the  children,  the  old  lady  strongly 
pointed  out  the  folly  of  such  an  ar- 
rangement, which  might,  perhaps, 
frighten  away  Mr.  Gann  from  the 
delightful  matrimonial  trap  into  which 
(lucky  rogue  !)  he  was  about  to  fall. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  the  happy 
pair  returned  to  England,  occupying 
the  house  in  Thames  Street,  City, 
until  the  death  of  Gann  senior  ;  when 
his  son,  becoming  head  of  the  firm  of 
Gann  and  Blubbery,  quitted  the  dis- 
mal precincts  of  Billingsgate  and 
colonized  in  the  neighborhood  of  Put- 
ney ;  where  a  neat  box,  a  couple  of 
spare  bedrooms,  a  good  cellar,  and  a 
smart  gig  to  drive  into  and  out  from 
town,  made  a  real  gentleman  of  him. 
Mrs.  Gann  treated  him  with  much 
scorn,  to  be  sure,  called  him  a  sot, 
and  abused  hugely  the  male  comj)an- 
ions  that  he  brought  down  with  him 


to  Putney.  Honest  James  would 
listen  meekly,  would  yield,  and  would 
bring  down  a  brace  more  Iriends  the 
next  day,  with  whom  he  would  dis- 
cuss his  accustomed  number  of  bottles 
of  port.  About  this  period,  a  daughter 
was  born  to  iiim,  called  Caroline 
Brandenburg  Gann  ;  so  named  alter 
a  large  mansion  near  Hammersmith, 
and  an  injured  queen  who  lived  there 
at  the  time  of  the  little  girl's  birth, 
and  who  was  greatly  compassioned 
and  patronized  by  ]\irs.  James  Gann, 
and  other  ladies  of  distinction.  Mrs. 
James  was  a  lady  in  tliose  days,  and 
gave  evening-parties  of  the  very  first 
order. 

At  this  period  of  time,  Mrs.  James 
Gann  sent  the  twins,  Rosalind  Clan- 
cy and  Isabella  Finnigan  Wellcsley 
Macarty  to  a  boarding-school  for 
young  ladies,  and  grumbled  much  at 
the  amount  of  the  half-years'  bills 
which  her  husband  was  called  upon 
to  pay  for  them ;  for  though  James 
discharged  them  with  perfect  good- 
humor,  his  lady  began  to  entertain  a 
mean  opinion  indeed  of  her  pretty 
young  children.  'Jbe;  could  expect 
no  fortune,  she  said,  from  Mr.  Gann, 
and  she  wondered  that  he  should 
think  of  bringing  them  vip  expensive- 
ly, when  he  had  a  darling  child  of  his 
own,  for  whom  he  was  bound  to  save 
all  the  money  that  he  could  lay  by. 

Grandmamma,  too,  doted  on  the 
little  Caroline  Brandenburg,  and 
vowed  that  she  would  leave  her  three 
thousand  pounds  to  this  dear  infant; 
for  in  this  way  does  the  world  show 
its  respect  for  that  most  res})ectal)le 
thing  prosperity.  Who  in  this  life 
get  the  smiles,  and  the  acts  of  friend- 
ship, and  the  pleasing  legacies  ?  — 
The  rich.  And  I  do,  for  my  part, 
heartily  wish  that  some  one  would 
leave  me  a  trifle,  — say  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds,  —  being  perfectly  confi- 
dent that  some  one  else  would  leave 
me  more  ;  and  that  I  should  sink  into 
my  grave  worth  a  plum  at  least. 

Little  Caroline  tlien  had  her  maid, 
her  airy  nursery,  her  little  carriage  to 
drive  in,  the  promise  of  her  grand- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


mamma's  consols,  and  that  priceless 
treasure,  —  her  mamma's  undivided 
afFectiou.  Gaon,  too,  loved  her  sin- 
cerely, in  his  careless,  good-humored 
way  ;  but  he  determined,  notwith- 
Btandinu,  that  his  step  -  daughters 
should  have  something  handsome  at 
his  death,  but  —  but  for  a  great 
But. 

Gann  and  Blubbery  were  in  the 
oil  line,  —  have  we  not  said  so  t 
Their  profits  arose  from  contracts  for 
lighting  a  great  number  of  streets  in 
London ;  and  about  this  period  Gas 
cara-i  into  use.  Gann  and  Blubbery 
appeared  in  the  Gazette  ;  and,  I  am 
sorrv  to  say,  so  bad  had  been  the 
management  of  Blubbery,  —  so  great 
the  extravagance  of  both  partners 
and  their  ladies,  —  that  they  only 
paid  their  creditors  fourteenpeuce 
halfpenny  in  the  pound. 

When  Mrs.  Crabb  heard  of  this 
dreadful  accident,  —  Mrs.  Crabb,  who 
dined  thrice  a  week  with  her  son-in- 
law  ;  who  never  would  have  been  al- 
lowed to  enter  the  house  at  all  had 
not  honest  James  interposed  his  good- 
nature between  her  quarrelsome 
daughter  an  1  herself,  —  Mrs.  Crabb, 
I  say,  proclaimed  James  Gann  to  be 
a  swindler,  a  villain,  a  disreputable, 
tipsy,  vulgar  man,  and  made  over  her 
monev  to  the  Misses  Rosalind  Clancy 
and  Isabella  Finnigan  Macarty ;  leav- 
ing poor  little  Caroline  without  one 
single  maravedi.  Half  of  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  pounds  allotted  to 
each  was  to  be  paid  at  marriage,  the 
other  half  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  James 
Gann,  who  was  to  enjoy  the  interest 
thereof  Thus  do  we  rise  and  fall  in 
this  world,  —  thus  does  Fortune  shake 
her  swift  wings,  and  bid  us  abruptly 
to  resign  the  gifts  (or  rather  loans) 
which  we  have  had  from  her. 

How  Gann  and  his  family  lived 
after  their  stroke  of  misfortune.  I 
know  not ;  but  as  the  failing  trades- 
man is  going  through  the  process  of 
bankruptcy,  and  for  some  months 
afterwards  it  may  be  remarked  that 
he  has  usually  some  mysterious  means 
of  subsistence,  —  stray  spars  of  the 


wreck  of  his  property,  on  which  he 
manages  to  seize,  and  to  float  for  a 
while.  During  his  retirement,  in  an 
obscure  lodging  in  Lambeth,  where 
the  poor  fellow  was  so  tormented  by 
his  wife  as  to  be  compelled  to  fly  to 
the  public-house  for  refuge,  Mrs. 
Crabb  died ;  a  hundred  a  year  thus 
came  into  the  possession  of  Mrs. 
Gann  ;  and  some  of  James's  friends, 
who  thought  him  a  good  fellow  in  his 
prosperity,  came  forward,  and  fur- 
nished a  house,  in  which  they  placed 
him,  and  came  to  see  and  comfort 
him.  Then  they  came  to  see  him  not 
quite  so  often ;  then  they  found  out 
that  Mrs.  Gann  was  a  satl  tyrant,  and 
a  silly  woman ;  then  the  ladies  de- 
clared her  to  be  insupportable,  and 
(jrann  to  be  a  low,  tipsy  fellow  :  and 
the  gentlemen  could  but  shake  their 
heads,  and  admit  that  the  charge  was 
true.  Then  they  left  off  coming  to 
see  him  altogether ;  for  such  is  the 
way  of  the  world,  where  many  of  us 
have  good  impulses,  and  are  generous 
on  an  occasion,  hut  are  wearied  by 
perpetual  want,  and  begin  to  grow 
angry  at  its  importunities,  —  being 
very  properly  vexed  at  the  daily  re- 
currence of  hunger,  and  the  impu- 
dent unreasonableness  of  starvation. 
Gann,  then,  had  a  genteel  wife  and 
children,  a  furnished  house,  and  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year.  How  should 
he  live  ?  The  wife  of  James  Gann, 
Esq.,  would  never  allow  him  to  de- 
mean himself  by  taking  a  clerk's 
place  ;  and  James  himself,  being  as 
idle  a  fellow  as  ever  was  known,  was 
fain  to  acquiesce  in  this  determination 
of  hers,  and  to  wait  for  some  more 
genteel  employment.  And  a  curious 
list  of  such  genteel  employments 
might  be  made  out,  were  one  inclined 
to  follow  this  interesting  subject  far  ; 
shabby  compromises  with  the  world, 
into  which  poor  fellows  enter,  and 
still  fondly  talk  of  their  "  position," 
and  strive  to  imairine  that  they  are 
really  working  for  their  bread. 
i  Numberless  lodging-houses  are  kept 
by  the  females  of  families  who  have 
met  with  reverses  :   are  not  "  board- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


ing-hooses,  with  a  select  musical  so- 
ciety, in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
squares,"  maintained  by  such  1  Do 
not  the  gentlemen  of  the  boarding- 
houses  issue  forth  every  moining  lo 
the  City,  or  make  believe  to  go  thith- 
er, on  some  mysterious  business 
which  they  liave  1     After  a  certain 

Eriod,  Mrs.  James  Gann  kept  a 
Iging-house  (in  her  own  words, 
received  "  two  inmates  into  her  fam- 
ily"), and  Mr.  Gaon  had  his  myste- 
rious business. 

In  the  yeajf  1835,  vhen  this  story 
begins,  (here  stood  in  a  certain  back 
street  in  the  town  of  Margate  a  bouse, 
ou  the  door  of  which  might  be  read, 
in  gieaAuing  brass,  the  name  of  Mr. 
Gann.  It  was  the  work  of  a  single 
smutty  servant-maid  to  clean  this 
brass  plate  every  morning,  and  to  at- 
tend as  far  as  possible  to  the  wants 
of  Mr.  Gann,  his  family,  and  lodgers  ; 
and  his  house  being  not  very  far 
from  the  sea,  and  as  you  might,  by 
climbing  up  to  the  roof,  get  a  sight 
between  two  chimn  ys  of  that  multi- 
tudinous element,  Mrs,  Gann  set 
down  her  lodgings  as  fashionable; 
and  declared  on  her  cards  that  her 
house  commanded  "  a  fine  view  of 
the  sea." 

On  the  wire  window-blind  of  the 
parlor  was  written,  in  large  charac- 
ters, the  word  Office  ;  and  here  it 
was  that  Gann's  services  came  into 
play.  He  was  very  much  changed, 
poor  fellow  !  and  humbled  ;  and  from 
two  cards  that  hung  outside  the  blind, 
I  am  led  to  lielieve  that  he  did  not 
disdain  to  be  agent  to  the  "  London 
and  Jamaica  Ginger-Beer  Company," 
and  also  for  a  certain  preparation 
called  "  Gaster's  Infants'  Farinacio, 
or  Mothers'  Invigorating  Substitute," 
—  a  damp,  black,  mouldy,  half-pound 
packet  of  which  stood  in  peiTnanencc 
at  one  end  of  the  "  office  "  man  tel-piece ; 
while  a  fly-blown  ginger-beer  bottle 
occupied  the  other  extremity.  Noth- 
ing else  indicated  that  this  ground- 
floor  chamber  was  an  office,  except  a 
huge  black  inkstand,  in  which  stood 
a  stumpy  pen,  richly  crusted  with  ink 


at  the  Bib,  and  to  all  appearance  for 
many  months  enjoying  a  sinecure. 

To  this  room  you  saw  every  day, 
at  two  o'clock,  the  employe  trom  the 
neighl)oring  hotel  bring  two  quaris 
of  beer ;  and  if  you  called  at  that 
hour,  a  tremendous  smoke,  and  smell 
of  dinner,  would  gush  out  upon  you 
from  the  "office,"  as  you  stumbled 
over  sundry  battered  tin  dish-covers, 
which  lay  gaping  at  the  threshold. 
Thus  had  that  great  bulwark  of  gen- 
tility, the  dining  at  six  o'clock,  been 
broken  in  ;  and  the  reader  must  there- 
fore judge  tliat  the  house  of  Gaun 
was  in  a  demoralized  state. 

Gann  certainly  was.  After  the 
tedies  had  retired  to  the  back-parlor 
(which,  with  yellow  gauze  round  the 
frames,  window-curtains,  a  red  silk 
cabinet  piano,  and  an  album,  was  still 
tolerably  genteel),  Gann  remained,  to 
transact  business  in  the  office.  This 
took  place  in  the  presence  of  friends, 
and  usually  consisted  in  the  produc- 
tion of  a  bottle  of  gin  from  the  corner 
cupboard,  or,  mayhap,  a  iitre  of 
brandy,  which  was  given  by  Gann 
with  a  knowing  wink,  and  a  fat 
finger  placed  on  a  twinkling  red  nose  : 
when  Mrs.  G.  was  out,  James  would 
also  produce  a  number  of  pipes,  that 
gave  this  room  a  constant  and  agree- 
able odor  of  shag  tobacco. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Gann  had  nothing  to 
do  from  morning  till  night.  He  was 
now  a  fat,  bald-headed  man  of  fifty  ; 
a  dirty  dandy  on  week-days,  with  a 
shawl-waistcoat,  a  tuft  of  hair  to  his 
great  double  chin,  a  snulfy  shirt-frill, 
and  enonnous  bi'east-|)in  and  seals : 
he  had  a  pilot-coat,  with  large  moth- 
er-of-pearl buttons,  and  always  wore 
a  great  rattling  telescope,  with  which 
he  might  be  seen  for  hours,  on  the  sea- 
shore or  the  pier,  examining  the  ships, 
the  bathing-machines,  the  ladies' 
schools  as  they  paraded  up  and  down 
the  esplanade,  and  all  other  objects 
which  the  telescopic  view  might  give 
him.  He  knew  every  person  con- 
nected  with  every  one  of  the  Deal  and 
Dover  coaches,  and  was  sure  to  be 
witness  to  the  arrival  or  departure  of 


8 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


several  of  them  in  the  course  of  the 
day ;  he  had  a  word  for  the  ostler 
about  "  that  gray  mare,"  a  nod  for 
the  "  shooter  "  or  guard,  and  a  bow 
for  the  dragsman ;  he  could  send 
parcels  for  nothing  up  to  town  ;  had 
twice  had  Sir  Rumble  Tumble  (the 
noble  driver  of  the  Flash-o'-light- 
ninglight-four-inside-post-coach)  " up 
at  his  place,"  and  took  care  to  tell 
you  that  some  of  the  party  were 
pretty  considerably  "  sewn  up,"  too. 
He  did  not  frequent  the  large  hotels ; 
but  in  revenge  he  knew  every  person 
who  entered  or  left  them ;  and  was  a 
great  man  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and 
the  "  Magpie  and  Punchbowl,"  where 
he  was  president  of  a  club  ;  he  took  the 
bass  in  "  Mynheer  Van  Dunk," 
"  The  Wolf,"  and  many  other  morsels 
of  concerted  song,  and  used  to  go 
backwards  and  forwards  to  London 
in  the  steamers  as  often  as  ever  he 
liked,  and  have  his  "  grub,"  too,  on 
board.  Such  was  James  Gann. 
Many  people,  when  they  wrote  to 
him,  addressed  him  James  Gann, 
Esq. 

His  reverses  and  former  splendors 
afforded  a  never-failing  theme  of  con- 
versation to  honest  Gann  and  the 
whole  of  his  family ;  and  it  may  be 
remarked  that  such  pecuniary  mis- 
fortunes, as  they  are  called,  are  by  no 
means  misfortunes  to  people  of  certain 
dispositions,  but  actual  pieces  of  good 
luck.  Gann,  for  instance,  used  to 
drink  liberally  of  port  and  claret, 
when  the  house  of  Gann  and  Blub- 
bcry  was  in  existence,  and  was 
henceforth  compelled  to  imbibe  only 
brandy  and  gin.  Now  he  loved  these 
a  thousand  times  more  than  the  wine  ; 
and  had  the  advantage  of  talking 
about  the  latter,  and  of  his  great 
merit  in  giving  them  up.  In  those 
prosperous  ilays,  too.  being  a  gentle- 
man, he  could  not  frequent  the  public- 
house  as  he  did  at  present ;  and  the 
sanded  tavern-parlor  was  Gann's 
supreme  enjoyment.  He  was  obliged 
to  spend  many  hours  daily  in  a  dark 
unsavory  room  in  an  alley  off 
Thames    Street ;    and    G^pn    hated 


books  and  business,  except  of  other 
people's.  His  tastes  were  low  ;  he 
loved  public-house  jokes  and  com- 
pany ;  and  now  being  fallen,  was 
voted  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails "  and 
the  "  Magpie  "  before  mentioned  a 
tip-top  fellow  and  real  gentleman, 
whereas  he  had  been  considered  an 
ordinary  vulgar  man  by  his  fashion- 
able associates  at  Putney.  Many 
men  are  there  who  are  made  to  fall, 
and  to  profit  by  the  tumble. 

As  for  Mrs.  G.,  or  Jooly,  as  she 
was  indifferently  called  by  her  hus- 
band, she,  too,  had  gained  by  her 
losses.  She  bragged  of  her  former 
acquaintances  in  the  most  extraordi- 
nary way,  and  to  hear  her  you  would 
fancy  that  she  was  known  and  con- 
nected to  half  the  peerage.  Her  chief 
occupation  was  taking  medicine,  and 
mending  and  altering  of  her  gowns. 
She  had  a  huge  taste  for  cheap  finery, 
loved  raffles,  tea-parties,  and  walks 
on  the  pier,  where  she  flaunted  her- 
self and  daughters  as  gaj'  as  butter- 
flies. She  stood  upon  her  rank,  did 
not  fail  to  tell  her  lodgers  that  she 
was  "  a  gentlewoman,"  and  was 
mighty  sharp  with  Becky  the  maid, 
and  poor  Carry,  her  youngest  child. 

For  the  tide  of  affection  had  turned 
now,  and  the  "  Misses  Wellesley  Ma- 
carty"  were  the  darlings  of  their 
mother's  heart,  as  Caroline  had  been 
in  the  early  days  of  Putney  prosper- 
ity. Mrs.  Gann  respected  and  loved 
her  elder  daughters,  the  stately  heir- 
esses of  £  1 ,500,  and  scorned  poor 
Caroline,  who  was  likewise  scorned 
(like  Cinderella  in  the  sweetest  of  all 
stories)  by  her  brace  of  haughty, 
thoughtless  sisters.  These  young 
women  were  tall,  well-grown,  black- 
browed  girls,  little  scrupulous,  fond 
of  fun,  and  having  great  health  and 
spirits.  Caroline  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  had  fair  hair  and  meek  gray  eyes ; 
nobody  thought  her  a  beauty  in  her 
moping  cotton  gown ;  whereas  the 
sisters,  in  flaunting  printed  muslins, 
with  pink  scarfs,  and  artificial  flow- 
ers, and  brass  ferronnieres,  and  other 
fallals,  were  voted  very  charming  and 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


genteel  by  the  Ganns'  circle  of  friends. 
They  had  pink  cheeks,  white  shoul- 
ders, and  many  glossy  curls  stuck 
about  their  shining  foreheads,  as 
damp  and  as  black  as  leeches.  Such 
charms,  madam,  cannot  fail  of  having 
their  effect ;  and  it  was  very  lucky  for 
Caroline  that  she  did  not  possess 
them,  for  she  might  have  been  ren- 
dered as  vain,  frivolous,  and  vulgar, 
as  these  young  ladies  were. 

While  these  enjoyed  their  pleasures 
and  tea-parties  abroad,  it  was  Carry's 
usual  fate  to  remain  at  home,  and 
help  the  servant  in  the  many  duties 
which  were  required  in  Mrs.  Gann's 
establishment.  She  dressed  that  lady 
and  her  sisters,  brought  her  papa  his 
tea  in  bed,  kept  the  lodgers'  bills,  bore 
their  scoldings  if  they  were  ladies, 
and  sometimes  gave  a  hand  in  the 
kitchen  if  any  extra  pie-crust  or  cook- 
ery was  required.  At  two  she  made 
a  little  toilet  for  dinner,  and  was  em- 
ployed on  numberless  household  darn- 
ings and  mendings  in  the  long  even- 
ings, while  her  sisters  giggled  over 
the  jingling  piano,  mamma  sprawled 
on  the  sofa,  and  Gann  was  over  his 
glass  at  the  club.  A  weary  lot,  in 
sooth,  was  yours,  poor  little  Caroline  ! 
since  the  days  of  your  infancy,  not 
one  hour  of  sunshine,  no  friendship, 
no  cheery  playfellows,  no  mother's 
love ;  but  that  being  dead,  the  affec- 
tions which  would  have  crept  round 
it  withered  and  died  too.  Only 
James  Gann,  of  all  the  household, 
had  a  good-natured  look  for  her,  and 
a  coarse  word  of  kindness ;  nor,  in- 
deed, did  Caroline  complain,  nor  shed 
many  tears,  nor  call  for  death,  as  she 
would  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in 
genteeler  circles.  The  poor  thing  did 
not  know  her  own  situation ;  her  mis- 
ery was  dumb  and  patient ;  it  is  such 
as  thousands  and  thousands  of  wo- 
men in  our  society  bear,  and  pine,  and 
die  of;  made  up  of  sums  of  small 
tyrannies,  and  long  indifference,  and 
bitter,  wearisome  injustice,  more 
dreadful  to  bear  than  any  tortures 
that  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  pleased 
to  cry  Ai !  Ai !  about.  In  our  inter- 
1* 


course   with    the    world — (which   is 
conducted  with  that  kind  of  cordial- 
ity that  we  see  in  Sir  Harry  and  my 
Lady  in    a    comedy  —  a    couj)le    of 
painted,  grinning  fools,  talking  parts 
that  they  have  learned  out  of  a  book), 
—  as  we  sit  and  look  at  the  smiling 
actors,  we  get  a  glimpse  behind  the 
scenes  from  time  to  time;   and  alas 
for  the  wretched  nature  that  appears 
j  there  !  —  among     women    especially, 
who   deceive  even    more   than    men, 
having   more   to  hide,  feeling  more, 
lining  more   than  we  who  have  our 
I  business,    pleasure,   ambition,   which 
carries  us  abroad.     Ours  are  the  great 
:  strokes   of   misfortune,   as   they   are 
called,  and  theirs  the  small  miseries. 
j  While  the  male   thinks,   labors,  and 
j  battles   without,    the   domestic   woes 
I  and  wrongs  are  the  lot  of  the  women  ; 
1  and  the  little  ills  are  so  bad,  so  infi- 
'  nitely  fiercer  and   bitterer   than  the 
'  great,  that  I  would   not  change  my 
I  condition,  —  no,   not    to    be    Helen, 
'  Queen  Elizabeth,  Mrs.  Coutts,  or  the 
I  luckiest  she  in  history. 
I      Well,  then,  in  the  manner  we  have 
!  described    lived    the     Gann    family. 
I  Mr.  Gann  all  the  better  for  his  "  mis- 
fortunes," Mrs.  Gann  little  the  worse  ; 
I  the  two  young  ladies  greatly  improved 
I  by  the  circumstance,  having  been  cast 
I  thereby  into  a  society  where  their  ex- 
j  pected  three  thousand  pounds   made 
:  great  heiresses   of  them  ;    and   poor 
Caroline,  as  luckless  a  being  as  any 
that  the  wide   sun  shone  upon.     Bet- 
ter to  be  alone  in  the  world  and  utter- 
ly friendless,  than  to  have  sham  friends 
and  no    sympathy ;    ties    of    kindred 
which  bind  one  as  it  were  to  the  corpse 
of  relationship,  and  oblige  one  to  bear 
through  life  the  weight  find  the  em- 
braces of  this  lifeless,  cold  connection 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Caroline 
would  ever  have  made   use   of  this 
metaphor,  or  suspected  that  her  con- 
nection with  her  mamma  and  sisters 
was  anything  so  loathsome.     She  felt 
that  she  was  ill  treated,  and  had  no 
companion  ;  but  was  not  on  that  ac- 
count envious,  only  humble  and  de- 
pressed, not  desiring  so  much  to  resist 


10 


A  SHABBY  GBNTEEL  STOEY. 


as  to  bear  injustice,  and  hardly  ven- 
turing to  think  for  herself.  This  tyr- 
anny and  humility  served  her  in  place 
of  education,  and  formed  her  man- 
ners, which  were  wonderfully  gentle 
and  calm.  It  was  strange  to  see  such 
a  person  growing  up  in  such  a  fam- 
ily ;  the  neighbors  spoke  of  her  with 
much  scornful  compassion.  "A  poor, 
half-witted  thing,"  they  said,  "  who 
could  not  say  bo !  to  a  goose  " ;  and 
I  think  it  is  one  good  test  of  gentility 
to  be  thus  looked  down  on  by  vulgar 
people. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the 
elder  girls  had  reached  their  present 
age  without  receiving  a  number  of  of- 
fers of  marriage,  an  .1  being  warmly  in 
love  a  great  many  times.  But  many 
unfortunate  occurrences  had  compel- 
led them  to  remain  in  their  virgin 
condition.  There  was  an  attorney 
who  had  proposed  to  Rosalind  ;  but 
finding  that  she  would  receive  only 
£.  750  down,  instead  of  £  1500,  the 
monster  had  jilted  her  pitilessly, 
handsome  as  she  was.  An  apothe- 
cary, too,  had  been  smitten  by  her 
charms  ;  but  to  live  in  a  shop  was  be- 
neath the  dignity  of  a  Wellesley  Ma- 
carty,  and  she  waited  for  better 
things.  Lieutenant  Swabber,  of  the 
coast-guard  service,  had  lodged  two 
months  at  Gann's  ;  and  if  letters,  long 
walks,  and  town-talk  could  settle  a 
match,  a  match  between  him  and  Isar 
bella  must  have  taken  place.  Well, 
Isabella  was  not  married;  and  the 
lieutenant,  a  colonel  in  Spain,  seemed 
to  have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  her. 
She  meanwhile  consoled  herself  with 
a  gay  young  wine  merchant,  who  had 
lately  established  himself  at  Brighton, 
kept  a  gig,  rode  out  with  the  hounds, 
and  was  voted  perfectly  genteel ;  and 
there  was  a  certain  French  marquess, 
with  the  most  elegant  black  musta- 
chios,  who  had  made  a  vast  impres- 
sion upon  the  heart  of  Rosalind,  hav- 
ing met  her  first  at  the  circulating 
library,  and  afterwards,  by  the  most 
extraordinary  series  of  chances,  com- 
ing upon  her  and  her  sister  daily  in 
their  walks  upon  the  pier. 


Meek  little  Caroline,  meanwhile, 
trampled  upon  though  she  was,  was 
springing  up  to  womanhood ;  and 
though  pale,  freckled,  thin,  meanly 
dressed,  had  a  certain  charm  about 
her  which  some  people  might  prefer 
to  the  cheap  splendors  and  rude  red 
and  white  of  the  Misses  Macarty.  In 
fact,  we  have  now  come  to  a  period 
of  her  history  when,  to  the  amaze  of 
her  mamma  and  sisters,  and  not  a 
little  to  the  satisfaction  of  James 
Gann,  Esquire,  she  actually  inspired  a 
passion  in  the  breast  of  a  very  respect- 
able young  man. 


CHAPTER  n. 

HOW   MRS.    OANN   RECEIVED   TWO 
LODGERS. 

It  was  the  winter  season  when  the 
events  recorded  in  this  history  occur- 
red ;  and  as  at  that  period  not  one 
out  of  a  thousand  lodging-houses  in 
Margate  is  let,  Mrs.  Gann,  who  gen- 
erally submitted  to  occupy  her  own 
first  and  second  floors  during  this 
cheerless  season,  considered  herself 
more  than  ordinarily  lucky  when  cir- 
cumstances occurred  which  brought 
no  less  than  two  lodgers  to  her  estab- 
lishment. 

She  had  to  thank  her  daughters  for 
the  first  inmate ;  for,  as  these  two 
young  ladies  were  walking  one  day 
down  their  own  street,  talking  of  the 
joys  of  the  last  season,  and  the  de- 
light of  the  raffles  and  singing  at  the 
libraries,  and  the  intoxicating  pleas- 
ures of  the  Vauxhall  balls,  tliey  were 
remarked  and  evidently  admired  by 
a  young  gentleman  who  was  saun- 
tering listlessly  up  the  street. 

He  stared,  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  fascinating  girls  stared  too, 
and  put  each  other's  head  into  each 
other's  bonnet,  and  giggled  and  said, 
"  Lor' !  "  and  then  looked  hard  at 
the  young  gentleman  again.  Their 
eyes  were  black,  their  cheeks  were 
very  red.  Fancy  how  Miss  Bella's 
and  Miss  Linda's  hearts  beat  when 
the  gentleman,  dropping  his  glass  out 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  StGHY. 


11 


of  his  eye,  actually  stepped  across  the 
street,  and  said,  "  Ladies,  I  am  seek- 
ing for  lodgings,  and  should  be  glad 
to  look  at  those  which  I  see  are  to  let 
in  your  house." 

"  How  did  the  conjurer  know  it 
was  our  house  1 "  thought  Bella  and 
Linda  ( they  always  thought  in  coup- 
les). From  the  rery  simple  fact  that 
Miss  Bella  had  just  thrust  into  the 
door  a  latch-key. 

Most  bitterly  did  Mrs.  James  Ganii 
regret  that  she  had  not  on  her  best 

fown  when  a  stranger — a  stranger  in 
"ebruary  —  actually  called  to  look  at 
the  lodgings.  She  made  up,  how- 
ever, for  the  slovenliness  of  her  dress 
by  the  dignity  of  her  demeanor  ;  and 
asked  the  gentleman  for  refei-ences,  in- 
formed him  that  she  was  a  gentlewo- 
man, and  that  he  would  have  peculiar 
advantages  in  her  establishment ;  and, 
finally,  agreed  to  receive  him  at  the 
rate  of  twenty  shillings  per  week. 
The  bright  eyes  of  the  young  ladies 
had  done  the  business  ;  but  to  this  day 
Mrs.  James  Ganii  is  convinced  that 
her  peculiar  dignity  of  manner,  and 
great  fluency  of  brag  regarding  her 
family,  have  been  the  means  of  bring- 
ing hundreds  of  lodgers  to  her  house, 
who  but  for  her  would  never  have 
visited  it. 

"  Grents,"  said  Mr.  James  Gann,  at 
the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  that  very  even- 
ing, "  we  have  got  a  new  lodger,  and 
I  '11  stand  glasses  round  to  his  jolly 
good  health ! " 

The  new  lodger,  who  was  remark- 
able for  nothing  except  very  black 
eyes,  a  sallow  face,  and  a  habit  of 
smoking  cigars  in  bed  until  noon,  gave 
his  name  as  George  Brandon,  Esq. 
As  to  his  temper  and  habits,  when 
humbly  requested  by  Mrs.  Gann  to 
pay  in  advance,  he  laughed  and  pre- 
sented her  with  a  bank-note,  never 
quarrelled  with  a  single  item  in  her 
bills,  walked  much,  and  ate  two  mut- 
ton-chops per  diem.  The  young  ladies, 
who  examined  all  the  boxes  and  let- 
ters of  the  lodgers,  as  young  ladies 
will,  could  not  find  one  single  docu- 
ment relative  to  their  new  inmate,  ex- 


cept a  tavern-bill  of  the  "  White 
Hurt,"  to  which  the  name  of  George 
Brandon,  Esquire,  was  prefixed.  Any 
other  papers  which  might  elucidate 
his  history  were  locked  up  in  a  Bra- 
mah  box,  likewise  marked  G.  B. ; 
and  though  these  were  but  unsatis- 
factory points  by  which  to  judge  a 
man's  character,  there  was  a  some- 
thing about  Mr.  Brandon  which 
caused  all  the  ladies  at  Mrs.  Gann's 
to  vote  he  was  quite  a  gentleman. 

When  this  was  the  case,  I  am  hap- 
py to  say  it  would  not  unfrequently 
happen  that  Miss  Rosalind  or  Miss 
Isabella  would  appear  in  the  lodger's 
apartments,  bearing  in  the  breakfast- 
cloth,  or  blushingly  appearing  With 
the  weekly  bill,  apologizing  for  mam^ 
ma's  absence,  "  and  hoping  that 
everything  was  to  the  gentleman's 
liking." 

Both  the  Misses  Wellesl^  Macarty 
took  occasion  to  visit  Mr.  Brandbn  ifi 
this  manner,  and  he  received,  both 
with  such  a  fascinating  ease  and  geti- 
tleman-like  freedom  of  manner,  scan- 
ning their  points  from  head  to  foidt, 
and  fixing  his  great  black  eyes  so 
earnestly  in  their  faces,  that  the  blush- 
ing creatures  tamed  dway  abashed, 
and  yet  pleased,  and  had  many  coil-! 
versations  about  him. 

"  Law,  Bell,"  said  Miss  Eosalind, 
"  what  a  ehap  that  Brandon  is  !  I 
don't  half  like  him,  I  do  declare ! " 
Than  which  there  can  be  no  great- 
er compliment  from  a  woman  to  a 
man. 

"  No  more  do  I  neither,"  says  Bell. 
"  The  man  stares  so,  and  says  such 
things  !  Just  now,  when  Becky 
brought  his  paper  and  sealing'wax,  — 
the  silly  girl  brought  black  and  red 
too,  —  I  took  them  up  to  ask  which  he 
would  have,  and  what  do  you  think 
he  said  ?  " 

"Well,  dear,  what?"  said  Mrs. 
Gann. 

" '  Miss  Bell,'  says  he,  looking  at 
me,  and  with  such  eyes  !  *  I  '11  keep 
everything  :  the  red  wax,  because  it  s 
like  your  lips;  the  black  wax,  be- 
cause it 's  like  your  hair ;    and  the 


12 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


satin  paper,  because  it  's  like  your 
skin  ! '     Was  n't  it  genteel  1  " 

"  Law,  now  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Gann. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  it 's  very 
rude !  "  said  Miss  Lindy  ;  "  and  if  he  'd 
said  so  to  me,  I  'd  have  slapped  his 
face  for  ins  imperence  !  "  And  much 
to  her  credit,  Miss  Lindy  went  to  his 
room  ten  minutes  after  to  see  if  he 
would  say  anything  to  her.  What 
Mr.  Brandon  said,  I  never  knew  ;  but 
the  little  pang  of  envy  which  had 
caused  Miss  Lindy  to  retort  sharply 
upon  her  sister  had  given  place  to  a 
jjlensed  good  humor,  and  she  allowed 
Bella  to  talk  about  the  new  lodger 
as  much  as  ever  she  liked. 

And  now  if  the  reader  is  anxious  to 
know  what  was  Mr.  Brandon's  charac- 
ter, he  had  better  read  the  following  let 
ter  from  him.  It  was  addressed  to  no 
less  a  person  than  a  viscount ;  and 
given,  perhaps,  with  some  little  osten- 
tation to  Becky,  the  maid,  to  carry 
to  the  post.  Now  Becky,  before  she 
executed  such  errands,  always  showed 
the  letters  to  her  mistress  or  one  of 
the  young  ladies  (it  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  Miss  Caroline  was  a  whit 
less  curious  on  these  matters  than  her 
sisters  ) ;  and  when  the  family  beheld 
the  name  of  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars 
upon  the  superscription,  their  respect 
for  their  lodger  was  greater  than  ever 
it  had  been  :  — 

"Margate,  'February,  1835. 
"  My  dear  Viscocnt,  —  For  a 
reason  I  have,  on  coming  down  to 
Margate,  I  with  much  gravity  in- 
formed the  people  of  the  '  White 
Hart '  that  my  name  was  Brandon, 
and  intend  to  bear  that  honorable 
appellation  during  my  stay.  For  the 
same  reason  (I  am  a  modest  man, 
and  love  to  do  fi^ood  in  secret),  I  left 
the  public  hotel  immediately,  and 
am  now  housed  in  private  lodgings, 
humble,  and  at  a  humble  price.  I  am 
here,  thank  Heaven,  quite  alone. 
Robinson  Crusoe  had  as  much  society 
in  his  island,  as  I  in  this  of  Thanet. 
In  compensation  I  sleep  a  great  deal. 


do  nothing,  and  walk  much,  silent, 
by  the  side  of  the  roaring  sea,  like 
Calchas,  priest  of  Apollo. 

"The  fact  is,  that  until  papa's 
wrath  is  appeased,  I  must  live  with 
the  utmost  meekness  and  humility, 
and  have  barely  enough  money  in  my 
possession  to  pay  such  small  current 
expenses  as  fall  on  me  here,  where 
strangers  are  many  and  credit  does 
not  exist.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to 
tell  Mr.  Simpson  the  tailor,  Mr.  Jack- 
son the  boot-maker,  honest  Solomon- 
son  the  discounter  of  bills,  and  all 
such  friends  in  London  and  Oxford 
as  may  make  inquiries  after  me, 
that  I  am  at  this  very  moment  at  the 
city  of  Munich  in  Bavaria,  from 
which  I  shall  not  return  until  my 
marriage  with  Miss  Goldmore,  the 
great  Indian  heiress  ;  who,  upon  my 
honor,  will  have  me,  I  believe,  any 
day  for  the  asking. 

"  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  my  hon- 
ored father,  I  know,  whose  purse  has 
already  bled  pretty  freely  for  me,  I 
must  confess,  and  who  has  taken  the 
great  oath  that  never  is  broken,  to 
bleed  no  more  unless  this  marriage  is 
brought  about.  Come  it  must.  I 
can't  work,  I  can't  starve,  and  I  can't 
live  under  a  thousand  a  year. 

"  Here,  to  be  sure,  the  charges  are 
not  enormous ;  for  your  edification, 
read  my  week's  bill :  — 

'Cleorge  Brandon,  Esq., 

'To  Mrs.  James  Gann. 
£    s.   d. 

A  week's  lodging, 1    0    0 

Breakfast,  cream,  epgs 0    9    0 

Dinner  (fourteen  mutton-chops)  0  10    6 
Fire,  boot-cleaning,  &c 0    3    6 

£2    3    0 

'  Settled,  Juliana  Qann.' 

"  Juliana  Gann  !  Is  it  not  a  sweet 
name  ?  it  sprawls  over  half  the  paper. 
Could  you  but  see  the  owner  of  the 
name,  my  dear  fellow '  I  love  to  ex- 
amine the  customs  of  natives  of  all 
countries,  and  upon  my  word  there 
are  some  barbarians  in  our  own  less 
known,  and  more  worthy  of  l)eing 
known,  than  Hottentots,  wild  Irish, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


13 


Otaheiteans,  or  any  such  savages. 
If  you  could  see  the  airs  that  tliis 
woman  gives  herself;  the  rouge,  rib- 
bons, rings,  and  other  female  gim- 
cracks  that  she  wears  ;  if  you  could 
hear  her  reminiscences  of  past  times, 
'  when  she  and  Mr.  Gann  moved  in 
the  very  genteelest  circles  of  socie- 
ty ' ;  of  the  peerage,  which  she  knows 
by  heart ;  and  of  the  fashionable 
novels,  in  every  word  of  which  she 
believes,  you  would  be  proud  of  your 
order,  and  admire  the  intense  respect 
which  the  canaille  show  towards  it. 
There  never  was  such  an  old  woman, 
not  even  our  tutor  at  Christchurch. 

"  There  is  a  he  Gann,  a  vast,  bloat- 
ed old  man,  in  a  rough  coat,  who  has 
met  me  once,  and  asked  me,  with  a 
grin,  if  my  mutton-chops  was  to  my 
liking  t  The  satirical  monster ! 
What  can  I  eat  in  this  place  but 
mutton-chops  1  A  great  bleeding 
beefsteak,  or  a  filthy,  recking  gigot  a 
I'eau,  with  a  tuniip  poultice?  I 
should  die  if  I  did.  As  for  fish  in  a 
watering-place,  I  never  touch  it ;  it  is 
sure  to  be  bad.  Nor  care  I  for  little 
sinewy,  dry,  black  -  legged  fowls. 
Cutlets  are  my  only  resource ;  I  have 
them  nicely  enough  broiled  by  a 
little  humble  companion  of  the  family, 
(a  companion,  ye  gods,  in  this 
family  !)  who  blushed  hugely  when 
she  confessed  that  the  cooking  was 
hers,  and  that  her  name  was  Caroline. 
For  drink  I  indulge  in  gin,  of  which 
I  consume  two  wineglasses  daily,  in 
two  tumblers  of  cold  water ;  it  is  the 
only  liquor  that  one  can  be  sure  to 
find  genuine  in  a  common  house  in 
Engjand. 

"  This  Gann,  I  take  it,  has  similar 
likings,  for  I  hear  him  occasionally 
4t  midnight  floundering  up  the  stairs 
(his  boots  lie  dirty  in  the  passage)  — 
floundering,  I  say,  up  the  stairs,  and 
cursing  the  candlestick,  whence  es- 
cape now  and  anon  the  snuffers  and 
extinguisher,  and  with  brazen  rattle 
disturb  the  silence  of  the  night. 
Thrice  a  week,  at  least,  does  Gann 
breakfast  in  bed,  —  sure  sign  of  pri- 
dian intoxication  ;  and  thrice  a  week, 


in  the  morning,  I  hear  a  hoarse  voice 
roaring  for  '  my  soda-water.'  How 
long  have  the  rogues  drunk  soda- 
water  7 

"  At  nine,  Mrs.  Gann  and  daugh- 
ters are  accustomed  to  breakfast ;  a 
handsome  pair  of  girls,  truly,  and 
much  followed,  as  I  hear,  in  the 
quarter.  These  dear  creatures  are 
always  paying  me  visits,  —  visits 
with  the  tea-kettle,  visits  with  the 
newspaper  (one  brings  it,  and  one 
comes  for  it) ;  but  the  one  is  always 
at  the  other's  heels,  and  so  one  can- 
not show  one's  self  to  be  that  dear,  gay 
seducing  fellow  that  one  has  been, 
at  home  and  on  the  Continent.  Do 
you  remember  cede  ch'ere  marquise  at 
Pau  ?  That  cursed  conjugal  pistol- 
bullet  still  plays  the  deuce  with  my 
shoulder.  Do  you  remember  Betty 
Bundy,  the  butcher's  daughter?  A 
pretty  race  of  fools  are  we  to  go  mad 
after  such  women,  and  risk  all,  — 
oaths,  prayers,  promises,  long  weari- 
some courtships,  —  for  what  ?  —  for 
vanity,  truly.  When  the  battle  is 
over,  behold  your  conquest !  Betty 
Bundy  is  a  vulgar  country  wench  ; 
and  celte  belle  marquise  is  old,  rouged, 
and  has  false  hair.  Vanitas  vauita- 
tum !  what  a  moral  man  I  will  be 
some  day  or  other  ! 

"  I  have  found  an  old  acquaintance, 
(and  be  hanged  to  him  !)  who  has 
come  to  lodge  in  this  very  house. 
Do  you  recollect  at  l?ome  a  young 
artist.  Fitch  by  name,  the  handsome 
gaby  with  the  large  beard,  that  mad 
Mrs.  Carric-kfergus  was  doubly  mad 
about  ?  On  the  second  floor  of  Airs. 
Gann's  house  dwells  this  youth.  His 
beard  brings  the  gamins  of  the  streets 
trooping  and  yelling  about  him  ;  his 
fine  braided  coats  have  grown  some- 
what shabby  now ;  and  the  poor 
fellow  is,  like  your  humble  servant 
(by  the  way,  have  you  a  500  franc 
billet  to  spare  ?) — like  your  humble 
servant,  I  say,  very  low  in  pocket. 
The  young  Andrea  bears  up  gayly, 
however ;  twangles  his  guitar,  paints 
the  worst  pictures  in  the  world,  and 
pens  sonnets   to  his  imaginary  mis- 


u 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


tress's  eyebrow.  Luckily  the  rogue  did 
not  know  my  name,  or  I  should  have 
been  compelled  to  unbosom  to  him ; 
and  when  I  called  out  to  him,  dubious 
As  to  my  name,  '  Don't  you  know 
me  ?  I  met  you  in  Rome.  My 
name  is  Brandon,'  the  painter  was 
perfectly  satisfied,  and  majestically 
bade  me  welcome. 

"Fancy  the  continence  of  this 
young  Joseph,  —  he  has  absolutely 
run  away  from  Mrs.  Carriekfergus  ! 
'  Sir,'  said  he,  with  some  hesitation 
and  blushes,  when  I  questioned  him 
about  the  widow,  '  I  was  compelled  to 
leave  Rome  in  consequence  of  the 
fatal  fondness  of  that  woman.  I  am 
an  'andsome  man,  sir,  —  I  know  it, 
—  all  the  chaps  in  the  Academy  want 
me  for  a  model ;  and  that  woman, 
sir,  is  sixty.  Do  you  think  I  would 
ally  myself  with  her ;  sacrifice  my 
happiness  for  the  sake  of  a  creature 
that  's  as  hugly  as  an  'arpy  ?  I  'd 
rather  starve,  sir.  I  'd  rather  give  up 
my  hart  and  my  'opes  of  rising  in  it 
than  do  a  haction  so  dishhkkonordhle.' 

"  There  is  a  stock  of  virtue  for  you  ! 
and  the  poor  fellow  half  starved.  He 
lived  at  Rome  upon  the  seven  por- 
traits that  the  Carriekfergus  ordered 
of  him,  and,  as  I  fancy,  now  does  not 
m;»ke  twenty  pounds  in  the  year.  O 
rare  chastity  !  O  wondrous  silly 
hopes  !  0  motus  animorum,  atqiie  0 
certamina  tarda  !  —  piJveris  exigui  jac- 
tu,  in  such  an  insignificant  little  lump 
of  mud  as  this  !  Why  the  deuce 
does  not  the  fool  marry  the  widow  ? 
His  betters  would.  There  was  a  cap- 
tain of  dragoons,  an  Italian  prince, 
and  four  sons  of  Irish  peers,  all  at 
her  feet ;  but  the  Cockney's  beard 
and  whiskers  have  overcome  them  all. 
Here  my  paper  has  come  to  an  end  ; 
and  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  your 
Lordship  a  respectful  farewell. 

"  G.  B." 

Of  the  young  gentleman  who  goes 
by  the  name  of  Brandon,  the  reader 
of  the  above  letter  will  not  be  so  mis- 
guided, we  trust,  as  to  have  a  very 
exalted  opinion.     The  noble  viscount 


I  read  this  document  to  a  supper-party 
in  Christchurch,  in  Oxford,  and  left 
it  in  a  bowl  of  milk-punch  ;  whence  a 
scout  abstracted  it,  and  handed  it  over 
to  us.  My  Lord  was  twenty  years 
of  age  when  he  received  the  epistle, 
and  had  spent  a  couple  of  years 
abroad,  before  going  to  the  University, 
under  the  guardianship  of  the  worthy 
individual  who  called  himself  George 
Brandon. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  the  son  of  a  half- 
pay  colonel,  of  good  family,  who, 
honoring  the  great  himself,  thought 
his  son  would  vastly  benefit  by  an  ac- 
quaintance with  them,  and  sent  him 
to  Eton,  at  cruel  charges  upon  a  slen- 
der purse.  From  Eton  the  lad  went 
to  Oxford,  took  honors  there,  fre- 
quented the  best  society,  followed 
with  a  kind  of  proud  obsequiousness  all 
the  tufts  of  the  University,  and  left  it 
owing  exactly  two  thousand  pounds. 
Then  there  came  storms  at  home; 
fury  on  the  part  of  the  stem  old 
"  governor  "  ;  and  final  payment  of 
the  debt.  But  while  this  settlement 
was  pending,  Master  George  had  con- 
tracted many  more  debts  among  bill- 
discounters,  and  was  glad  to  fly  to 
the  Continent  as  tutor  to  young  Lord 
Cinqbars,  in  whose  company  he 
learned  every  one  of  the  vices  in  Eu- 
rope ;  and  having  a  good  natural 
genius,  and  a  heart  not  unkindly, 
had  used  these  qualities  in  such  an 
admirable  manner  as  to  be  at  twenty- 
seven  utterly  ruined  in  purse  and 
principle,  —  an  idler,  a  spendthrift, 
and  a  glutton.  He  was  free  of  his 
money  ;  would  spend  his  last  guinea 
for  a  sensual  gratification  ;  would 
Ijorrow  from  his  neediest  friend ;  had 
no  kind  of  conscience  or  remorse  left, 
but  believed  himself  to  be  a  good- 
natured  devil-may-care  fellow ;  had  a 
good  deal  of  wit,  and  indisputably 
good  manners,  and  a  pleasing,  dash- 
ing frankness  in  conversation  with 
men.  I  should  like  to  know  how 
many  such  scoundrels  our  universi- 
ties have  turned  out ;  and  how  much 
ruin  has  been  caused  by  that  accursed 
system  which  is  called   in    England 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


15 


"  the  education  of  a  gentleman."  Go, 
my  son,  for  ten  years  to  a  public 
school,  that  "  world  in  miniature  " ; 
learn  "  to  fight  for  yourself"  against 
the  time  when  your  real  struggles 
shall  begin.  Begin  to  be  selfish  at 
ten  years  of  age  ;  study  for  other  ten 
years  ;  get  a  competent  knowledge  of 
boxing,  swimming,  rowing,  and  crick- 
et, with  a  pretty  knack  of  Latin  hex- 
ameters and  a  decent  smattering  of 
Greek  plays,  —  do  this  and  a  fond 
father  shall  bless  you,  — ■  bless  the 
two  thousand  pounds  which  he  has 
spent  in  acquiring  all  these  benefits 
for  you.  And,  besides,  what  else 
have  you  not  learned  1  You  have 
been  many  hundreds  of  times  to  chap- 
el, and  have  learned  to  consider  the 
religious  service  performed  there  as 
the  vainest  parade  in  the  world.  If 
your  father  is  a  grocer,  you  have  been 
beaten  for  his  sake,  and  have  learned 
to  be  ashamed  of  him.  You  have 
learned  to  forget  (as  how  should  you 
remember,  being  separated  from  them 
for  three  fourths  of  your  time?)  the 
ties  and  natural  affections  of  home. 
You  have  learned,  if  you  have  a  kind- 
ly heart  and  an  open  hand,  to  com- 
pete with  associates  much  more 
wealthy  than  yourself;  and  to  con- 
sider money  as  not  much,  but  honor 
—  the  honor  of  dining  and  consort- 
ing with  your  betters  -^  as  a  great 
deal.  All  this  does  the  public-school 
and  college  boy  learn ;  and  woe  be  to 
his  knowledge !  Alas,  what  natural 
tenderness  and  kindly  clinging  filial 
affection  is  he  taught  to  trample  on 
and  despise !  My  friend  Brandon 
had  gone  through  this  process  of  edu- 
cation, and  had  been  irretrievably 
ruined  by  it,  —  his  heart  and  his  hon- 
esty had  been  ruined  by  it,  that  is  to 
say ;  and  he  had  received,  in  return 
for  them,  a  small  quantity  of  classics 
and  mathematics,  —  pretty  compen- 
sation for  all  he  had  lost  in  gaining 
them  ! 

But  I  am  wandering  most  absurdly 
from  the  point ;  right  or  wrong,  so 
nature  and  education  had  formed 
Mr    Brandon,  who  is  one  of  a  con- 


siderable class.  Well,  this  young  gen* 
tleman  was  established  at  Mrs. 
Gann's  house ;  and  we  are  obliged  to 
enter  into  all  these  explanations  con- 
cerning him,  because  they  are  neces- 
sary to  the  right  understanding  of 
our  story,  —  Brandon  not  being  al- 
together a  bad  man,  nor  much  worse 
than  many  a  one  who  goes  through  a 
course  of  regular  selfish  swindling  all 
his  life  long,  and  dies  religious,  re- 
signed, proud  of  himself,  and  univer- 
sally respected  by  others ;  for  this 
eminent  advantage  has  the  getting- 
and-keeping  scoundrel  over  the  ex- 
travagant and  careless  one. 

One  day,  then,  as  he  was  gazing 
from  the  window  of  his  lodging-house, 
a  cart,  containing  a  vast  number  of  eas- 
els, portfolios,  wooden  cases  of  pictures, 
and  a  small  carpet-bag  that  might 
hold  a  change  of  clothes,  stopped  at 
the  door.  The  vehicle  was  accom- 
panied by  a  remarkable  young  fellow, 
—  dressed  in  a  frock-coat  covered  over 
with  frogs,  a  dirty  turned-down  shirt- 
collar,  with  a  blue  satin  cravat,  and  a 
cap  placed  wonderfully  on  one  ear,  — 
who  had  evidently  hired  apartments 
at  Mr.  Gann's.  This  new  lodger  was 
no  other  than  Mr.  Andrew  Fitch  ;  or, 
as  he  wrote  on  his  cards,  without  th« 
prefix, 


Q^ndzea    O/^teod. 


Preparations  had  been  made  at 
Gann  s  for  the  reception  of  Mr.  Fitch, 
whose  aunt  (an  auctioneer's  lady  in 
the  town)  had  made  arrangements 
that  he  should  board  and  lodge  with 
the  Gann  family,  and  have  the  apart> 
ments  on  the  second  floor  as  his  pri- 
vate  rooms.  In  these,  then,  young 
Andrea  was  installed.  He  was  a 
youth  of  a  poetic  temperament,  loving 
solitude ;  and  where  is  such  to  bo 
found  more  easily  than  on  the  storm- 
washed  shores  of  Margate  in  winter? 
Then  the  boarding-house  keepers  have 
shut  up  their  houses  and  gone  away 


16 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


in  anguish ;  then  the  taverns  take 
their  carpets  up,  and  you  can  have 
your  choice  of  a  hundred  and  twenty 
beds  in  any  one  of  them ;  then  but 
one  dismal  waiter  remains  to  super- 
intend this  vast  echoing  pile  of  lone- 
liness, and  the  landlord  pines  for  sum- 
mer ;  then  the  flys  for  Ramsgate 
stand  tenantless  beside  the  pier ;  and 
about  four  sailors,  in  pea-jackets,  are 
to  be  seen  in  the  three  principal 
streets;  in  the  rest,  silence,  closed 
shutters,  torpid  chimneys  enjoying 
tiieir  unnatural  winter  sinecure,  — 
not  the  clack  of  a  patten  echoing  over 
the  cold  dry  flags  ! 

This  solitude  had  been  chosen  by 
Mr.  Brandon  for  good  reasons  of  his 
own  ;  Gann  and  his  family  would 
have  fled,  but  that  they  had  no  other 
house  wherein  to  take  refuge ;  and 
Mrs.  Hammerton,  the  auctioneer's 
lady,  felt  .so  keenly  the  kindness 
which  she  was  doing  to  Mrs.  Gann,  in 
providing  her  with  a  lodger  at  such  a 
period,  that  she  considered  herself 
fully  justified  in  extracting  from  the 
latter  a  bonus  of  two  guineas,  threat- 
ening on  refusal  to  send  her  darling 
nephew  to  a  rival  establishment  over 
the  way. 

Andrea  was  here  then,  in  the  loneli- 
ness that  he  loved,  —  a  fantastic 
youth,  who  lived  but  for  his  ai't ;  to 
whom  the  world  was  like  the  Coburg 
Theatre,  and  he  in  a  magnificent  cos- 
tume acting  a  principal  part.  His 
art  and  his  beard  and  whiskers  were 
the  darlings  of  his  heart.  His  long 
pale  hair  fell  over  a  high  polished 
brow,  which  looked  wonderfully 
thoughtful  ;  and  yet  no  man  was 
more  guiltless  of  thinking.  He  was 
always  putting  himself  into  attitudes ; 
lie  never  spoke  the  truth  ;  and  was  so 
entirely  att'ected  and  absurd,  as  to  be 
quite  honest  at  last :  for  it  is  my  be- 
lief that  the  man  did  not  know  truth 
from  falsehood  any  longer,  and  was 
when  he  was  alone,  when  he  was  in 
company,  nay,  when  he  was  uncon- 
scious and  sound  asleep  snoring  in 
bud,  one  complete  lump  of  affectation. 
When  his  apartments  on  the  second 


floor  were  arranged  according  to  his 
fancy,  they  made  a  tremendous  show. 
He  had  a  large  Gothic  chest,  in  which 
he  put  his  wardrobe  (namely,  two  vel- 
vet waiscoats,  four  varied  satin  under 
ditto,  two  pairs  braided  trousers,  two 
shirts,  half  a  dozen  false  collars,  and 
a  couple  of  pairs  of  dreadfully  dilapi- 
dated Blucher  boots).  He  had  some 
pieces  of  armor  ;  some  China  jugs  and 
Venetian  glasses;  some  bits  of  old 
damask  rags,  to  drape  his  doors  and 
windows  :  and  a  rickety  lay  figure,  in 
a  Spanish  hat  and  cloak,  over  which 
slung  a  long  Toledo  rapier  and  a 
guitar,  with  a  ribbon  of  dirty  sky- 
blue. 

Such  was  our  poor  fellow's  stock  in 
trade.  He  had  some  volumes  of 
poems,  — "  Lalla  Rookh,"  and  the 
sterner  compositions  of  Byron :  for, 
to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  "  Don 
Juan,"  and  a  woman  was  in  his  eyes 
an  angel ;  a  Aangel,  alas !  he  would 
call  her,  for  nature  and  the  circum- 
stances of  his  family  had  taken  sad 
Cockney  advantages  over  Andrea's 
pronunciation. 

The  Misses  Wcllesley  Macarty 
were  not,  however,  ver}'  squeamish 
with  regard  to  grammar,  and,  in  this 
dull  season,  voted  Mr.  Fitch  an 
elegant  young  fellow.  His  immense 
beard  and  whiskers  gave  them  the 
highest  opinion  of  his  genius ;  and 
Ijefore  long  the  intimacy  between  the 
young  people  was  considerable,  for  Mr. 
Fitch  insisted  upon  drawing  the  por- 
traits of  the  whole  family.  He  paint- 
ed Mrs.  Gann  in  her  rouge  and 
ribbons,  as  described  by  Mr.  Bran- 
don ;  Mr.  Gann,  who  said  that  his 
picture  would  be  very  useful  to  the 
artist,  as  every  soul  in  Margate  knew 
him  ;  and  the  Misses  Macarty  (a  neat 
group,  representing  Miss  Bella  em- 
bracing Miss  Linda,  was  was  pointing 
to  a  pianoforte). 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  do  my  Carry 
next  ? "  said  Mr.  Gann,  expressing 
his  approbation  of  the  last  picture. 

"Law,  sir,"  said  Miss  Linda, 
"  Carry,  with  her  red  hair !  —  it  would 
be  ojus." 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 


17 


'  "Mr.  Fitcli  might  as  well  paint 
Beckj,  our  maid,"  said  Miss  Bella. 

"  Carry  is  quite  impossible,  Gann," 
said  Mrs.  Gann ;  "  she  has  n't  a  gown 
fit  to  be  seen  in.  She  's  not  been  at 
church  for  tliirteen  bundays  in  conse- 
quence." 

"  And  more  shame  for  you,  ma'am," 
said  Mr.  Gann,  who  liked  his  child ; 
"  Carry  shall  have  a  gown,  and  the 
best  of  gowns."  And  jingling  three- 
and-twenty  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
Mr.  Gann  determined  to  spend  them 
all  in  the  purchase  of  a  robe  for  Carry. 
But  alas,  the  gown  never  came ;  half 
the  money  was  spent  that  very  even- 
ing at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

"Is  that  —  that  young  lady,  your 
daughter  ? "     said    Mr.    Fitch,    sur- 

Erised,  for  he  fancied  Carry  was  a 
umble  companion  of  the  family. 

"  Yes,  she  is,  and  a  very  good 
daughter,  too,  sir,"  answered  Mr. 
Gann.  Fetch  and  Carry  I  call  her,  or 
else  Carryvan,  —  she  's  so  useful. 
Ain't  you,  Carry  ?  " 

"I  'm  very  glad  if  I  am,  papa," 
said  the  young  lady,  who  was  blush- 
ing violently,  and  in  whose  presence  all 
this  conversation  had  been  canied on. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  miss,"  said  her 
mother;  "  you  are  very  expensive  to 
us,  that  you  are,  and  need  not  brag 
about  the  work  you  do.  You  would 
not  live  on  charity,  would  you,  like 
some  folks  1 "  (here  she  looked  fierce- 
ly at  Mr.  Gann ;)  "  and  if  your  sisters 
and  me  starve  to  keep  you  and  some 
folks,  1  presume  you  are  bound  to 
make  us  some  return." 

When  any  allusion  was  made  to 
Mr.  Gann's  idleness  and  extrava- 
gance, or  his  lady  showed  herself  in 
any  way  inclined  to  be  angry,  it  was 
lionest  James's  habit  not  to  answer, 
but  to  take  his  hat  and  walk  abroad 
to  the  public-house;  or  if  haply  she 
scolded  him  at  night,  he  would  turn 
his  back  and  fall  a-snoring.  These 
were  the  only  remedies  he  found  for 
Mrs.  James's  bad  temper,  and  the 
first  of  them  he  adopted  on  hearing 
thtse  words  of  his  lady,  which  we  have 
just  now  transcribed. 


Poor  Caroline  had  not  her  father's 
refuge  of  tlight,  but  was  obliged  to 
stay  and  listen  ;  and  a  wondrous  elo- 
quence, God  wot!  had  Mrs.  Gann 
upon  the  subject  of  her  daughter's  ill- 
conduct.  The  first  lecture  Mr.  Fitch 
heard,  he  set  down  Caroline  for  a 
monster.  Was  she  not  idle,  sulky, 
scornful,  and  a  sloven  1  For  these 
and  many  more  of  her  daughter's 
vices  Mrs.  Gann  vouched,  declaring 
that  Caroline's  misbehavior  was  has- 
tening her  own  death,  and  finished  by 
a  fainting-fit.  In  the  presence  of  all 
these  charges,  there  stood  Miss  Caro- 
line, dumb,  stupid,  and  careless; 
nay,  when  the  fainting-fit  came  on, 
and  Mrs.  Gann  fell  back  on  tiie  sofa, 
the  unfeeling  girl  took  the  opportunity 
to  retire,  and  never  oflered  to  smack 
her  mamma's  hands,  to  give  her  the 
smelling-bottle,  or  to  restore  her  with 
a  glass  of  water. 

One  stood  close  at  hand ;  ior  Mr. 
Fitch,  when  this  first  fit  occurred,  was 
sittiuii  in  the  Gaim  parloi',  painting 
that  lady's  portrait;  and  he  was  mak- 
ing towards  her  with  his  tumbler, 
when  Miss  Linda  cried  out,  "  Stop ! 
the  water  's  full  of  paint";  and 
straightway  burst  out  laughing.  Mrs. 
Gann  jumped  up  at  this,  cured  sud- 
denly, and  left  the  room,  looking 
somewhat  foolish. 

"  Y''ou  don't  know  Ma,"  said  Miss 
Linda,  still  giggling ;  "  she  's  always 
fainting." 

"  Poor  thing !  "  cried  Fitch ;  "  very 
nervous,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  O,  very  !  "  answered  the  lady,  ex- 
changing arch  glances  with  Miss 
Bella. 

"  Poor  dear  lady !  "  continued  the 
artist;  "I  pity  her  from  my  hinniost 
soul.  Does  n't  the  himmortal  bard 
of  Havon  observe,  how  sharper  than 
a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thank- 
less child  ?  And  is  it  true,  ma'am, 
that  that  young  woman  lias  been  the 
ruin  of  her  family  f " 

"  Ruin  of  her  fiddlestick !  "  replied 
Miss  Bella.  "Law,  Mr.  Fitch,  you 
don't  know  Ma  yet ;  she  is  in  one  of 
her  tantrums." 


18 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


"  What,  then,  it  is  n't  true  ?  "  cried 
simple-minded  Fitch.  To  which  nei- 
ther of  the  young  ladies  made  any 
answer  in  words,  nor  could  the  little 
artist  comprehend  why  they  looked  at 
each  other,  and  burst  out  laughing. 
But  he  retired  pondering  on  what  he 
had  seen  and  heard ;  and  being  a  very 
soft  young  fellow,  most  implicitly  be- 
lieved the  accusations  of  poor  dear 
Mrs.  Gann,  and  thought  her  daughter 
Caroline  was  no  better  than  a  Began 
or  Goneril. 

A  time,  however,  was  to  come  when 
he  should  believe  her  to  be  a  most 
pure  and  gentle  Cordelia ;  and  of  this 
change  in  Fitch's  opiaioi^  we  shall 
speak  in  Chapter  III. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  DINXER,  AN"D 
OTHER  INCIDENTS  OF  A  LIKE  NA- 
TURE. 

Mr.  Brandon's  letter  to  Lord 
Cinqbars  produced,  as  we  have  said, 
a  great  impression  upon  the  family  of 
Gann  ;  an  impression  which  was  con- 
siderably increased  by  their  lodger's 
subsequent  behavior:  for  although 
the  persons  with  whom  he  now  asso- 
ciated were  of  a  very  vulgar,  ridicu- 
lous kind,  they  were  by  no  means  so 
low  or  ridiculous  that  Mr.  Brandon 
should  not  wish  to  appear  before  them 
in  the  most  advantageous  light ;  and, 
accordingly,  he  gave  himself  the  great- 
est airs  when  in  their  company,  and 
bragged  incessantly  of  his  acquaint- 
ance and  familiarity  with  the  nobil- 
ity. Mr.  Brandon  was  a  tuft-hunter 
of  the  genteel  sort;  his  pride  being 
quite  as  slavish,  and  his  haughtiness 
as  mean  and  cringing,  in  fact,  as 
poor  Mrs.  Gann's  stupid  wonder  and 
respect  for  all  the  persons  whose 
names  are  written  with  titles  before 
them.  0  free  and  happy  Britons, 
what  a  miserable,  truckling,  cringing 
race  ye  are ! 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  encoun- 


tered a  number  of  such  swaggerers  in 
the  course  of  his  conversation  with 
the  world,  —  men  of  a  decent  middle 
rank,  who  affect  to  despise  it,  and 
herd  only  with  persons  of  the  fashion, 
Tliis  is  an  offence  in  a  man  which 
none  of  us  can  forgive ;  we  call  him 
tuft-hunter,  lickspittle,  sneak,  un- 
manly ;  we  hate,  and  profess  to  de- 
spise him.  I  fear  it  is  no  such  thing. 
We  envy  Lickspittle,  that  is  the  fact; 
and  therefore  hate  him.  Were  he  to 
plague  us  with  the  stories  of  Jones 
and  Brown,  our  familiars,  the  man 
would  be  a  simple  bore,  his  stories 
heard  patiently ;  but  so  soon  as  he 
talks  of  my  Lord  or  the  Duke,  we  are 
in  arms  against  him.  I  have  seen  a 
whole  merry  party  in  Russell  Square 
grow  suddenly  gloomy  and  dumb,  be- 
cause a  pert  barrister,  in  a  loud,  shrill 
voice,  told  a  story  of  Lord  This,  or 
the  Marquis  of  That.  We  all  hated 
'  that  man ;  and  I  would  lay  a  wager 
that  .every  one  of  the  fourteen  per- 
sons assembled  round  the  boiled  tur- 
key and  saddle  of  mutton  (not  to 
mention  side-dishes  from  the  pastry- 
cook's opposite  the  British  Museum) 
—  I  would  wager,  1  say,  that  every 
one  was  muttering  inwardly,  "  A 
plague  on  that  fellow !  he  knows  a 
lord,  and  I  never  spoke  to  more  than 
three  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life," 
To  our  betters  we  can  reconcile  our- 
selves, if  we  please,  respecting  them 
very  sincerely,  laughing  at  their 
jokes,  making  allowance  for  their  stu- 
pidities, meekly  suffering  their  insd- 
lence ;  but  we  can't  pardon  our  equals 
going  beyond  us.  A  friend  of  mine 
who  lived  amicably  and  happily 
among  his  friends  and  relatives  at 
Hackney  was  on  a  sudden  disowned 
by  the  fatter,  cut  by  the  former,  and 
doomed  in  innumerable  prophecies  to 
ruin,  because  he  kept  a  foot-boy,  —  a 
liarmless  little  blowsy-faced  urchin, 
in  light,  snuff-colored  clothes,  glister 
ing  over  with  sugar-loaf  buttons 
There  is  another  man,  a  great  man, 
a  literary  man,  whom  the  public  loves, 
and  who  took  a  sudden  leap  from  ob- 
scurity into  fame  and  wealth.     This 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


11) 


was  a  crime ;  but  he  bore  his  rise 
with  so  much  modesty,  tliat  even  his 
brethren  of  the  pen  did  not  envy 
him.  One  luckless  day  lie  set  up  a 
one-horse  chaise ;  from  that  minute  he 
was  doomed. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  new  car- 
riage'?"  says  Snarley. 

"  Yes,"  says  Yow ;  "  he  's  so  con- 
snmedly  proud  of  it,  that  he  can't  see 
his  old  friends  while  he  drives." 

'» Ith  it  a  donkey-cart,"  lisps  Sim- 
per, "  thit  gwaad  cawwaige  ?  I  always 
thaid  that  the  man,  from  hith  thtile, 
wath  fitted  to  be  a  vewy  dethent  eoth- 
termoBger." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cries  old  Candor,  "  a 
sad  pity  indeed  !  — dreadfttlly  extrava- 
gant, I  'm  told,  —  bad  health, — ex- 
pensive family,  —  works  going  down 
every  day,  —  and  now  he  must  set  up 
a  carriage  forsooth !  " 

Snarley,   Yow,    Simper,    Candor, 
hate  their  brother.     If  he  is  ruined, 
they  will  be  kind  to  him  and  just,  but 
he  is  successful,  and  woe  be  to  him  ! 
*  *  *  *  * 

This  trifling  digression  of  half  a 
page  or  so,  although  it  seems  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  story  in  hand, 
has,  nevertheless,  the  strongest  rela- 
tion to  it ;  and  you  shall  hear  what. 

In  one  word,  then,  Mr.  Brandon 
bragged  so  much,  and  assumed  such 
airs  of  superiority,  that  after  a  while 
he  perfectly  disgusted  Mrs.  Gann  and 
the  Misses  Macarty,  who  were  gentle- 
folks themselves,  and  did  not  at  all 
like  his  way  of  telling  them  that  he 
was  their  better.  Mr.  Fitch  was 
swallowed  up  in  his  hart  as  he  called 
it,  and  cared  nothing  for  Brandon's 
airs.  Gann,  being  a  low-spirited  fel- 
low, completely  submitted  to  Mr. 
Brandon,  and  looked  up  to  him  with 
deepest  wonder.  And  poor  little 
Caroline  followed  her  father's  faith, 
and  in  six  weeks  after  Mr.  Brandon's 
arrival  at  the  lodgings  had  gi-own  to 
believe  him  the  most  perfect,  finished, 
polished,  agreeable  of  mankind.  In- 
deed, the  poor  girl  had  never  seen  a 
gentleman  before,  and  towards  such 
her  gentle  heart  turned  instinctively. 


Brandon  never  offended  by  hard 
words  ;  insulted  her  by  cruel  scorn, 
such  as  she  met  with  from  her  mother 
and  her  sisters  ;  there  was  a  quiet 
niiinncr  about  the  man  quite  ditt'ercnt 
to  any  that  she  had  before  seen 
amongst  the  ac(|uaintances  of  her 
family  ;  and  if  he  assumed  a  tone  of 
superiority  in  his  conversation  with 
her  and  the  rest,  Caroline  felt  that  he 
was  their  superior,  and  as  such  ad- 
mired and  respected  him. 

What  happens  when  in  the  innocent 
bosom  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  such  sensa- 
tions arise  ?  What  has  happened  ever 
since  the  world  began  ? 

I  have  said  that  Miss  Caroline  had 
no  friend  in  the  world  but  her  father, 
and  must  here  take  leave  to  recall  that 
assertion  ;  —  a  friend  she  most  cer- 
tainly had,  and  that  was  honest  Becky, 
the  snuuty  maid,  whose  name  has 
been  mentioned  before.  Miss  Caro- 
line had  learned,  in  the  course  of  a 
life  spent  under  the  tyranny  of  lier 
mamma,  some  of  the  notions  of  the 
latter,  and  would  have  been  very  much 
ofl'ended  to  call  Becky  her  friend  :  hut 
friends  in  fact  they  were  ;  and  a  great 
comfort  it  was  for  Caroline  to  descend 
to  the  calm  kitchen  from  the  stormy 
back-parlor,  and  there  vent  some  of 
her  little  woes  to  the  compassionate 
servant  of  all  work. 

When  Mrs.  Gann  went  out  with 
her  daughters,  Becky  would  take  her 
work  and  come  and  keep  Miss  Caro- 
line company  ;  and  if  the  trutii  must 
be  told,  the  greatest  enjoyment  the 
pair  used  to  have  was  in  these  after- 
noons, when  they  read  together  out 
of  the  precious  greasy,  marble-covered 
volumes  that  Mrs.  Gann  was  in  the 
habit  of  fetching  from  the  library. 
Many  and  many  a  tale  had  the  pair 
so  gone  through.  I  can  see  them 
over  "Manfrone;  or  the  One-handed 
Monk," — the  room  dark,  the  street 
silent,  the  hour  ten,  —  the  tall,  red, 
lurid  candlewick  waggling  down,  the 
flame  flickering  pale  upon  Miss  f'.iro- 
line's  pale  face  as  she  read  out,  mid 
lighting  up  honest  Becky's  ^■o<:<;liiig 
eyes,  who  sat  silent,  her  work  in  l«cr 


20 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


lap :  she  had  not  done  a  stitch  of  it 
for  an  hour.  As  the  trap-door  slowly 
Ojjens,  and  the  scowlinj^  Alonzo,  bend- 
inj^  over  the  sleeping  Imoinda,  draws 
his  pistol,  cocks  it,  looks  well  if  the 
priming  be  right,  places  it  then  to  the 
sleeper's  ear,  and — tlmnder-imder-under 
—  down  fall  the  snuffers !  Becky  has 
had  them  in  hand  for  ten  minutes, 
afraid  to  use  them.  Up  starts  Caro- 
hne,  and  flings  the  book  back  into  her 
mamma's  basket.  It  is  that  lady  re- 
turned with  her  daughters  from  a  tea- 
party,  where  two  young  gents  from 
London  have  been  mighty  genteel  in- 
deed. 

For  the  sentimental,  too,  as  well  as 
for  the  terrible.  Miss  Caroline  and  the 
cook  had  a  strong  predilection,  and 
had  wept  their  poor  eyes  out  over 
"  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw"  and  the 
"  Scottish  Chiefs."  Fortified  by  the 
examples  drawn  from  those  instructive 
volumes,  Becky  was  firmly  con\-inced 
that  her  young  mistress  would  meet 
with  a  great  lord  some  day  or  other, 
or  be  carried  off,  like  Cinderella,  by  a 
brilliant  prince,  to  the  mortification 
of  her  elder  sisters,  whom  Becky  hated. 
And  when,  therefore,  the  new  lodger 
came,  lonely,  mysterious,  melancholy, 
elegant,  with  the  romantic  name  of 
George  Brandon,  —  when  he  wrote  a 
letter  directed  to  a  lord,  and  Miss 
Caroline  and  Becky  togetlier  exam- 
ined the  superscription,  such  a  look 
passed  between  them  as  the  pencil  of 
Leslie  or  Maclisc  could  alone  describe 
for  us.  Becky's  orbs  were  lighted  up 
with  a  preternatural  look  of  wonder- 
ing wisdom  ;  whereas,  after  an  instant, 
Caroline  dropped  hers,  and  blushed, 
and  said,  "  Nonsense,  Becky  !  " 

"  /.<  it  nonsense  ? "  said  Becky, 
griiming  and  snapping  her  fingers 
with  a  triumphant  air  ;  "  the  cards 
comes  true  ;  I  knew  they  would.  Did 
n't  you  have  king  and  queen  of  hearts 
three  deals  running  1  What  did  you 
dream  about  last  Tuesday,  tell  me 
that  ? " 

But  Miss  Caroline  never  did  tell, 
for  her  .sisters  came  bouncing  down 
the  stairs,  and  examined  the  lodger's 


letter.  Caroline,  however,  went  away 
musing  much  upon  these  points ;  and 
she  began  to  think  Mr.  Brandon  more 
wonderful  and  beautiful  every  day. 

In  the  mean  time,  while  Miss  Caro- 
line was  innocently  indulging  in  her 
inclination  for  the  brilliant  occupier 
of  the  first  floor,  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  tenant  of  the  second  was  inflamed 
by  a  most  romantic  passion  for  her. 

For,  after  partaking  for  about  a 
fortnight  of  the  family  dinner,  and 
passing  some  evenings  with  Mrs. 
Gann  and  the  young  ladies,  Mr. 
Fitch,  though  by  no  means  quick  of 
comprehension,  began  to  perceive 
that  the  nightly  charges  that  were 
brought  against  poor  Caroline  could 
not  be  founded  upon  truth.  "  Let 's 
see,"  mused  he  to  himself.  "  Tues- 
day, the  old  lady  said  her  daughter 
was  bringing  her  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave,  because  the  cook 
had  not  boiled  the  potatoes.  Wed- 
nesday, she  said  Caroline  was  an  as- 
sassin, because  she  could  not  find  her 
own  thimble.  Thursday,  she  vows 
Caroline  has  no  religion,  because  that 
old  pair  of  silk  stockings  were  not 
darned.  And  this  can't  be,"  reason- 
ed Fitch,  deeply.  "  A  gal  haint  a 
murderess  because  her  Ma  can't  find 
her  thimble.  A  woman  that  goes  to 
slap  her  grown-up  daughter  on  the 
back,  and  before  company  too,  for 
such  a  paltry  thing  as  a  hold  pair  of 
stockings,  can't  be  surely  a  speaking 
the  truth."  And  thus  gradually  his 
first  impression  against  Caroline 
wore  away.  As  this  disappeared, 
pity  took  possession  of  his  soul, — 
and  we  know  what  pity  is  akin  to ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  a  correspond- 
ing hatred  for  the  oppressors  of  a 
creature  so  amiable. 

To  sum  up,  in  six  short  weeks  after 
the  appearance  of  the  two  gentlemen, 
we  find  our  chief  dramatis  persona  as 
follows  :  — 

Carolisk,  an  innoceDt  young  woman,  in 
love  with  Brandos. 

Fitch,  h  celebrated  painter,  almost  in  love 
with  Carolwb. 

Brandon,  a  young  gentleman  in  love  with 
himself. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


21 


At  first  he  was  pretty  constant  in 
his  attendance  upon  the  Misses  Ma- 
carty  when  they  went  out  to  walk, 
nor  were  they  displeased  at  his  atten- 
tions ;  but  he  found  that  there  were  a 
great  number  of  Margate  beaux  — 
ugly,  vulgar  fellows  as  ever  were  — 
who  always  followed  in  the  young 
ladies'  train,  and  made  themselves  in- 
finitely more  agreeable  than  he  was. 
These  men  Mr.  Brandon  treated  with 
a  great  deal  of  scorn  :  and,  in  return, 
they  hated  him  cordially.  So  did  the 
ladies  speedily  :  his  haughty  manners, 
though  quite  as  impertinent  and  free, 
were  not  half  so  pleasant  to  them  as 
Jones's  jokes  or  Smith's  charming 
romps  ;  and  the  girls  gave  Brandon 
very  shortly  to  understand  that  they 
were  much  happier  without  him. 
"  Ladies,  your  humble,"  he  heard 
Bob  Smith  say,  as  that  little  linen- 
draper  came  skipping  to  the  door 
from  which  they  were  issuing.  "  The 
sun  's  hup  and  trade  is  down ;  if 
you  're  for  a  walk,  I  'm  your  man. 
And  Miss  Linda  and  Miss  Bella  each 
took  an  arm  of  Mr.  Smith,  and  sailed 
down  the  street.  "  I  'm  glad  you  ain't 
got  that  proud  gent  with  the  glass 
hi,"  said  Mr.  Smith ;  "  he  's  the  most 
hill-bred,  supercilious  beast  I  ever  see." 

"  So  he  is,"  says  Bella. 

"  Hush  !  "  says  Linda. 

The  "  proud  gent  with  the  glass 
hi  "  was  at  this  moment  lolling  out 
of  the  first-floor  window,  smoking  his 
accustomed  cigar ;  and  his  eyeglass 
was  fixed  upon  the  ladies,  to  whom 
he  made  a  very  low  bow.  It  may  be 
imagined  how  fond  he  was  of  them 
afterwards,  and  what  looks  he  cast  at 
Mr.  Bob  Smith  the  next  time  he  met 
him.  Mr.  Bob's  heart  beat  for  a  day 
afterwards ;  and  he  found  he  had 
business  in  town 

But  the  love  of  society  is  stronger 
than  even  pride ;  and  the  great  Mr. 
Brandon  was  sometimes  fain  to 
descend  from  his  high  station  and 
consort  with  the  vulgar  family  with 
whom  he  lodged.  But,  as  we  have 
said,  he  always  did  this  with  a  won- 
derfully condescending  air,  giving  his 


associates  to  understand  how  great 
was  the  honor  he  did  them. 

One  day,  then,  he  was  absolutely 
so  kind  as  to  accept  of  an  invitation 
from  the  ground-floor,  which  was  de- 
livered in  the  passage  by  Mr.  James 
Gann,  who  said  "  It  was  hard  to  see 
a  gent  eating  mutton  -  chops  from 
week's  end  to  week's  end ;  and  if  Mr. 
Brandon  had  a  mind  to  meet  a  devil- 
ish good  fellow  as  ever  was,  my  friend 
Swigby,  a  man  who  rides  his  horse, 
and  has  his  five  hundred  a  year  to 
spend,  and  to  eat  a  prime  cut  out  of  as 
good  a  leg  of  pork  (though  he  said  it) 
as  ever  a  knife  was  stuck  into,  they 
should  dine  that  day  at  three  o'clock 
sharp,  and  Mrs.  G.  and  the  gals 
would  be  glad  of  the  honor  of  his 
company." 

The  person  so  invited  was  rather 
amused  at  the  terms  in  which  Mr. 
Gann  conveyed  his  hospitable  mes- 
sage ;  and  at  three  o'clock  made  his 
appearance  in  the  back-parlor,  whence 
he  had  the  honor  of  conducting  Mrs. 
Gann  (dressed  in  a  sweet  yellow 
moiisseline  de  laine,  with  a  large  red 
turban,  a  ferronvicre,  and  a  smelling- 
bottle  attached  by  a  ring  to  a  very 
damp,  fat  hand)  to  the  "  office, ' 
where  the  repast  was  set  out.  The 
Misses  Macarty  were  in  costumei 
equally  tasty  :  one  on  the  guest's 
right  hand ;  one  near  the  boarder, 
Mr.  Fitch,  —  who,  in  a  large  beard, 
an  amethyst  velvet  waistcoat,  his  hair 
fresh  wetted,  and  parted  accurately 
down  the  middle  to  fall  in  curls  over 
his  collar,  would  have  been  irresisti- 
ble if  the  collar  had  been  a  little,  little 
whiter  than  it  was. 

Mr.  Brandon,  too,  was  dressed  in 
his  A'ery  best  suit ;  for  though  he  af- 
feoted  to  despise  his  hosts  very  much, 
he  wished  to  make  the  most  favorable 
impression  upon  them,  and  took  care 
to  tell  Mrs.  Gann  that  he  and  Lord 
So-and-so  were  the  only  two  men  in 
the  world  who  were  in  possession  of 
that  particular  waistcoat  which  she 
admired  :  for  Mrs.  Gann  was  very 
gracious,  and  had  admired  the  waist- 
coat, being  desirous  to  impress  with 


22 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL  STOBY. 


Kwe  Mr.  Gann's  friend  and  admirer, 
Mr.  Swigby,  —  who,  man  of  fortune 
as  he  was,  was  a  constant  frequenter 
of  the  club  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

About  this  club  and  its  supporters 
Mr.  Gann's  guest,  Mr.  Swigby,  and 
Gann  himself,  talked  very  gayly  be- 
fore dinner  ;  all  the  jokes  about  all 
the  club  being  roared  over  by  the  pair. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  felt  he  was  the 
great  man  of  the  party,  indulged  him- 
self in  his  great  propensities  without 
restraint,  and  told  Mrs.  Gann  sto- 
ries about  half  the  nobility.  Mrs. 
Gann  conversed  knowingly  about  the 
Opera ;  and  declared  that  she  thought 
Taglioni  the  sweetest  singer  in  the 
world. 

"  Mr.  —  a  —  Swigby,  have  you  ever 
seen  Lablache  dance  1 "  asked  Mr. 
Brandon  of  that  gentleman,  to  whom 
he  had  been  formally  introduced. 


I  "  At  Vauxhall  is  he  1 "  Bud 
Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  just  from 
town. 

I  "  Yes,  on  the  tight-rope ;  a  charm- 
ing performer." 

On  which  Mr.  Gann  told  how  he 
had  been  to  Vauxhall  when  the 
princes  were  in  London  ;  and  his 
lady  talked  of  these  knowingly.  And 
then  they  fell  to  conversing  about  fire- 
works and  rack-punch  ;  Mr.  Brandon 
assuring  the  young  ladies  that  Vaux- 
hall was  the  very  pink  of  the  fashion, 
and  longing  to  have  the  honor  of 
dancing  a  quadrille  with  them  there. 
Indeed,  Brandon  was  so  very  sarcas- 
tic, that  not  a  single  soul  at  table  un- 
derstood him. 

The  table,  from  Mr.  Brandon's 
plan  of  it,  which  was  afterwards  sent 
to  my  Lord  Cinqbars,  was  arranged 
as  follows  :  — 


His8  Casouxe. 


Ma.  Fitch. 


Miss  h.  MACiaW. 


1. 

PoUtoes. 

3. 

A    roast    leg    of 
pork,  with  sage  and 
onions. 

Three  shreds 
of  celery  in  a 
glasa^ 

Boiled    haddock, 
removed  by  hashed 
mutton. 

2. 

Cabbage. 

4. 

Ha.  SwiGBT. 


Miss  B.  Macartt.        Mk.  Brahdon. 


I  and  2  are  pots  of  porter ;  3,  a 
quart  of  ale,  Mrs.  Gann's  favorite 
drink  ;  4,  a  bottle  of  fine  old  golden 
sherry,  the  real  produce  of  the  Uva 
grape,  purchased  at  the  "  Bag  of 
Nails "  Hotel  for  Is.  9 rf.  by  Mr.  J. 
Gann. 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Taste  that  sherry, 
sir.  Your  'ealth,  and  my  services  to 
you,  sir.  That  wine,  sir,  is  given  me 
as  a  particular  favor  by  my  —  ahem  !  i 
—  my  wine-merchant,  who  only  will 
part  \vith  a  small  quantity  of  it,  and 
imports  it  direct,  sir,  from  —  ahem  ! 
• —  from  —  "  I 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  From  Xeres,  of 
course.    It  is,  I  really  think,  the  finest  i 


wine  I  ever  tasted  in  my  life,  —  at  a 
commoner's  table,  that  is." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "  O,  in  course,  a  com- 
moner's table  !  —  we  have  no  titles, 
sir  (Mr.  Gann,  I  will  trouble  you  for 
some  more  crackling),  though  my 
poor  dear  girls  are  related,  by  their 
blessed  father's  side,  to  some  of  the 
first  nobility  in  the  land,  I  assure 
you." 

Mr.  Gann.  "Gammon,  Jooly  my 
dear.  Them  Irish  nobility,  you 
know,  what  are  they  ?  And  be- 
sides, it  's  my  belief  that  the  gals 
arc  no  more  related  to  them  tliaa  I 
am." 

Miss  Bella  {to  Mr.  Brandon,   con- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 


^entially).  "  You  must  find  that  poor 
far  is  sadly  vulgar,  Mr.  Bran- 
don." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "Mr.  Brandon  has 
never  been  accustomed  to  such  lan- 
guage, I  am  sure ;  and  I  entreat  you 
will  excuse  Mr.  Gann's  rudeness, 
sir." 

Miss  Linda.  "Indeed,  I  assure 
you,  Mr.  Brandon,  that  we  've  high 
connections  as  well  as  low ;  as  high 
as  some  people's  connections,  per'aps, 
though  we  are  not  always  talking  of 
the  nobility."  This  was  a  douHe 
shot :  the  first  barrel  of  Miss  Linda's 
sentence  hit  her  step-father ;  the  second 
part  was  levelled  directly  at  Mr. 
Brandon.  "  Don't  you  think  I  'm 
right,  Mr.  Fitch  ?  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  You  are  quite 
right.  Miss  Linda,  in  this  as  in  every 
other  instance ;  bat  I  am  afraid  Mr. 
Fitch  has  not  paid  proper  attention 
to  your  excellent  remark :  for,  if  I 
don't  mistake  the  meaning  of  that 
beautiful  design  which  he  has  made 
with  his  fork  upon  the  table-cloth,  his 
soul  is  at  this  moment  wrapped  up  in 
his  art." 

This  was  exatetly  what  Mr.  Fitch 
wished  that  all  the  world  should  sup- 
pose. He  flung  back  his  hair,  and 
stared  wildly  for  a  moment,  and  said, 
"  Pardon  me,  madam  :  it  is  true  my 
thoughts  were  at  that  moment  far 
away  in  the  regions  of  my  hart." 
He  was  really  thinking  that  his  atti- 
tude was  a  very  elegant  one,  and  that 
a  large  garnet  ring  which  he  wore  on 
his  forefinger  must  be  mistaken  by  all 
the  company  for  a  ruby. 

"Art  is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bran- 
don ;  "  but  with  such  pretty  natural 
objects  before  you,  I  wonder  you  were 
not  content  to  think  of  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  mashed  pota- 
toes, sir  ?  "  said  Andrea  Fitch,  won- 
dering. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty," 
answered  Brandon,  gallantly,  and 
laughing  heartily  at  the  painter's  sim- 
plicity. But  this  compliment  could 
not  soften  Miss  Linda,  who  had  an 
uneasy  conricticm  that  Mr.  BraadoB 


was  laughing  at  her,  and  disliked  him 
accordingly. 

At  this  juncture.  Miss  Caroline  en- 
tered and  took  the  place  marked  as 
hers,  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Gann, 
vacant.  An  old  rickety  wooden  stool 
was  placed  for  her,  instead  of  that 
elegant  and  commodious  Windsor 
chair  which  supported  every  other 
person  at  table ;  and  by  the  side  of 
the  plate  stood  a  curious  old  battered 
tin  mug,  on  which  the  antiquarian 
might  possibly  discover  the  inscrip- 
tion of  the  word  "  Caroline."  This, 
in  truth,  was  poor  Caroline's  mug 
and  stool,  having  been  appropriated 
to  her  from  childhood  upwards ;  and 
here  it  was  her  custom  meekly  to  sit, 
and  eat  her  daily  meal. 

It  was  well  that  the  girl  was  placed 
near  her  father,  else  I  do  believe  she 
would  have  been  starved ;  but  Gann 
was  much  too  good-natured  to  allow 
that  any  difi«rcnce  should  be  made 
between  her  and  her  sisters.  There 
are  some  meannesses  which  are  too 
mean  even  for  man,  —  woman,  lovely 
woman  alone,  can  venture  to  commit 
them.  Well,  on  the  present  occasion, 
and  when  the  dinner  was  half  over, 
poor  Caroline  stole  gently  into  the 
room  and  took  her  ordinary  place. 
Caroline's  pale  face  was  very  red ;  for 
the  fact  must  be  told  that  she  had 
been  in  the  kitchen,  helping  Becky, 
the  universal  maid ;  and  having 
heart!  bow  the  great  Mr.  Brandon 
was  to  dine  with  them  upon  that  day, 
the  simple  girl  had  been  showing  her 
respect  for  him,  by  compiling,  in  her 
best  manner,  a  certain  dish,  for  the 
cooking  of  which  her  papa  had  often 
praised  her.  She  took  her  place, 
blushing  violently  when  she  saw  him, 
and  if  Mr.  Gann  had  not  been  mak- 
ing a  violent  clattering  with  his  knife 
and  fork,  it  is  possible  that  he  might 
have  heard  Miss  Caroline's  heart 
thump,  which  it  did  violently.  Her 
dress  was  somehow  a  little  smarter 
than  usual ;  and  Becky  the  maid, 
who  brought  in  that  remove  of  hash- 
ed mutton  which  has  been  set  down 
is  the  Ml   df  fare,  looked    at   her 


24 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


yonng  lady  with  a  good  deal  of  com- 
placency, as,  loaded  with  plates,  she 
quitted  the  room.  Indeed,  the.  poor 
girl  deserved  to  be  looked  at :  there 
was  an  air  of  gentleness  and  inno- 
cence about  her  that  was  apt  to  please 
some  persons,  much  more  than  the 
bold  beauties  of  her  sisters.  The  two 
young  men  did  not  fail  to  remark 
this ;  one  of  them,  the  little  painter, 
had  long  since  observed  it. 

"  You  are  very  late,  miss,"  cried 
Mre.  Gann,  who  affected  not  to  know 
wliat  had  caused  her  daughter's  de- 
lay. "  You  're  always  late  !  "  and 
the  elder  girls  stared  and  grinned  at 
eich  other  knowingly,  as  they  always 
did  when  mamma  made  such  attacks 
upon  Caroline,  who  only  kept  her 
eyes  down  upon  the  table-cloth,  and 
began  to  eat  her  dinner  without  say- 
ing a  word. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  cried  honest 
Gann,  "  if  she  is  late  you  know  why. 
A  girl  can't  be  here,  and  there  too,  as 
I  say  ;  can  they,  Swigby  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Swigby. 

"  Gents, "  continued  Mr.  Gann, 
"  our  Carry,  you  must  know,  has  been 
down  stairs,  making  the  pudding  for 
her  old  pappy ;  and  a  good  pudding 
she  makes,  I  can  tell  you." 

Miss  Caroline  blushed  more  vehe- 
mently than  ever ;  the  artist  stared 
her  full  in  the  face ;  Mrs.  Gann  said, 
'•  Nonsense ! "  and  "  Stuff!  "  very  ma- 
jestically ;  only  Mr.  Brandon  inter- 
posed in  Caroline's  favor. 

"  I  would  sooner  that  my  wife 
should  know  how  to  make  a  pud- 
ding," said  he,  "  than  how  to  play  the 
best  piece  of  music  in  the  world !  "      I 

'•  Law,   Mr.  Brandon  !    I,   for  my  j 
part,   wouldn't    demean   myself    by 
any  such  kitchen-work ! "  cries  Miss 
Linda. 

"  Make  puddens,  indeed  ;  it  's 
ojous  !  "  cries  Bella. 

"  For  you,  my  loves,  of  course  !  " 
interposed  their  mamma.  "  Young 
women  of  your  family  and  circum- 
stances is  not  expected  to  perform 
any  such  work.  It  's  different  with 
Miss  Caroline,  who,  if  she  does  make  i 


herself  useful  now  and  then,  don'i 
make  herself  near  so  useful  as  she 
should,  considering  that  she  's  not  a 
shilling,  and  is  living  on  our  charity, 
like  some  other  folks." 

Thus  did  this  amiable  woman  neg- 
lect no  opportunity  to  give  her  opin- 
ions about  her  husband  and  daugh- 
ter. The  former,  however,  cared  not 
a  straw;  and  the  latter,  in  this  in- 
stance, was  perfectly  happy.  Had 
not  kind  Mr.  Brandon  approved  of 
her  work;  and  could  she  ask  for 
more? 

"  Mamma>may  say  what  she  pleases 
to-day,"  thought  Caroline.  "  I  am 
too  happy  to  be  made  -  angry  by 
her." 

Poor  little  mistaken  Caroline,  to 
think  vou  were  safe  against  three 
women !  The  dinner  had  not  ad- 
vanced rauth  further,  when  Miss  Isa- 
bella, who  iiad  been  examining  her 
younger  sister  curiously  for  some 
short  time,  telegraphed  Miss  Linda 
across  the  table,  and  nodded,  and 
winked,  and  pointed  to  her  own 
neck ;  a  very  white  one,  as  I  have  be- 
fore had  the  iionor  to  remark,  and 
quite  without  any  covering,  except  a 
smart  necklace  of  twenty-four  rows 
of  the  lightest  blue  glass  beads,  fin- 
ishing in  a  neat  tassel.  Linda  had  a 
similar  ornament  of  a  vermilion  color ; 
whereas  Caroline,  on  this  occasion, 
wore  a  handsome  new  collar  up  to 
the  throat,  and  a  brooch,  which  looked 
all  the  smarter  for  the  shabby  frock 
over  which  they  were  placed.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  her  sister's  signals, 
the  poor  little  thing,  who  had  only 
just  done  fluttering  and  blushing,  fell 
to  this  same  work  over  again.  Down 
went  her  eyes  once  more,  and  her  face 
and  neck  lighted  up  to  the  color  of 
Miss  Linda's  sham  cornelian. 

"  What  's  the  gals  giggling  and 
ogling  about  t "  said  Mr.  Gann,  in- 
nocently. 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  loves  ?  " 
said  stately  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see.  Ma  1  "  said 
Linda.  "  Look  at  Miss  Carry !  I'm 
blessed  if  she  has  not  got  on  Becky's  col- 


A  SHABBY   GEXTEEL   STORY. 


25 


far  and  brooch  that  Sims  the  pilot  gave 
her ! " 

The  young  ladies  fell  back  in  up- 
roarious tits  of  laughter,  and  laughed 
all  the  time  that  their  mamma  was 
thundering  out  a  speech,  in  which 
she  declared  that  her  daughter's  con- 
duct was  unworthy  a  gentlewoman, 
and  bid  her  leave  the  room  and  take 
off  those  disgraceful  ornaments. 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  her ; 
the  poor  little  thing  gave  one  piteous 
look  at  her  father,  who  was  wlustliug, 
and  seemed  indeed  to  think  the  mat- 
ter a  good  joke ;  and  after  she  had 
managed  to  open  the  door  and  totter 
into  the  passage,  you  might  have 
heard  her  weeping  there,  weeping 
tears  more  bitter  than  any  of  the 
many  she  had  shed  in  the  course 
of  her  life,  Down  she  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  when  she  reached  that 
humble  place  of  refuge,  first  pulled 
at  her  neck  and  made  as  if  she  would 
take  off  Becky's  collar  and  brooch, 
and  then  flung  herself  into  the  arms 
of  that  honest  scullion,  where  she 
cried  and  cried  till  slie  brought  on  the 
first  fit  of  hysterics  that  ever  she  had 
had. 

This  crying  could  not  at  first  be 
heard  in  the  parlor,  where  the  young 
ladies,  Mrs.  Gann,  Mr.  Gann,  and  his 
friend  from  the  "  Bag  of  Nails,"  were 
roaring  at  the  excellence  of  the  joke. 
Mr.  Brandon,  sipping  sherry,  sat  by, 
looking  very  sarcastically  and  slyly 
from  one  party  to  the  other;  Mr. 
Fitch  was  staring  about  him  too,  but 
with  a  verj'  different  expression,  anger 
and  wonder  inflaming  his  bearded 
countenance.  At  last,  as  the  laugh- 
ing died  away  and  a  faint  voice  of  | 
weeping  came  from  the  kitchen  below, 
Andrew  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but 
bounced  up  from  his  chair  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room,  exclaiming,  —  I 

"  By  Jove,  it 's  too  bad ! "  ! 

"  What  does  the  man  mean  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Gann. 

He  meant  that  he  was  from  that 

moment  over  head  and  ears  in  love 

with  (-aroline,  and  that  he  longed  to 

beat,  buffet,  pummel,  thump,  tear  to 

2 


pieces,  those  callous  ruffians  who  so 
pitilessly  laii^ihed  at  her. 

"  Wliat  's  that  clioj)  wi'  the  beard  in 
such  tantrums  about  ? "  said  the 
gentleniau  from  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

Mr.  Gann  answered  this  query  by 
some  joke,  intimating  that  "  per'aps 
Mr.  Fitch's  dinner  did  not  agree 
with  him,"  at  which  these  worthies 
roared  again. 

The  young  ladies  said,  "  Well, 
now,    upon  my  word  ! " 

"  Mighty  genteel  behavior  truly  !  " 
cried  mamma ;  "  but  what  can  you 
expect  fi'om  the  poor  thing  ? " 

Brandon  only  sipjjed  more  sherry, 
but  he  looked  at  Fitch  as  the  latter 
flung  out  of  the  room,  and  his  counte- 
nance was  lighted  up  by  a  more  un- 
equivocal smile. 

*  *         *        *        * 

These  two  little  adventures  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  silence  of  some  few 
minutes,  during  which  the  meats  re- 
mained on  the  table,  and  no  signs 
were  shown  of  that  pudding  upon 
which  poor  Caroline  had  exhausted 
her  skill.  The  absence  of  this  deli- 
cious part  of  the  repast  was  first  re- 
marked by  Mr.  Gann  ;  and  his  lady, 
after  jangling  at  the  bell  for  some 
time  in  vain,  at  last  lagged  one  of 
her  daughters  to  go  and  hasten  mat- 
ters. 

"  Becky  !  "  shrieked  Miss  Linda 
from  the  hall,  but  Becky  replied  not. 
"  Becky,  are  we  to  be  kept  waiting 
all  day  ?  "  continued  the  lady,  in  the 
same  shrill  voice.  "Mamma  wants 
the  pudding ! " 

"  Tell  her  to  fetch  it  her- 
self ! "  roared  Becky,  at  which  re- 
mark Gann  and  his  facetious  friend 
once  more  went  off  into  fits  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  This  is  too  bad ! "  said  Mrs.  G., 
starting  up ;  "  she  shall  leave  the 
house  this  instant !  "  and  so  no  doubt 
Becky  would,  but  that  the  la<ly  owed 
her  five  quarters'  wages ;  which  she, 
at  that  period,  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
pay. 

Well,  the  dinner  at  last  was  at  an 
end;  the  ladies  went  away   to   tea, 


26 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine ; 
Brandon,  very  condescendingly,  par- 
takin;?  of  a  bottle  of  port,  and  listen- 
inf^  with  admiration  to  the  toasts  and 
sentiments  with  wliich  it  is  still  the 
custom  among  persons  of  Mr.  Gann's 
rank  of  life  to  preface  each  glass  of 
wine.     As  thus  :  — 

Gliiss  I.  "  Gents,"  says  Mr.  Gann, 
rising,  "  this  glass  I  need  say  nothiuk 
about.  Here 's  the  king,  and  long 
life  to  him  and  the  family  !  " 

Mr.  Swlgby,  with  his  glass,  goes 
knock,  knock,  knock  on  the  table ; 
and  saying  gravely,  "  The  king  !  " 
drinks  off  his  glass,  and  smacks  his 
lips  afterwards. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  had  drunk  half 
his,  stops  in  the  midst  and  says,  "  O,  . 
'  the  king ' !  "  '  j 

Mr.  Swighy.  "  A  good  glass  of  wine 
that,  Gann  my  boy !  "  j 

.\ir.  Brandon.  "  Capital,  really ;  ; 
though,  upon  my  faith,  I'm  no  judge  j 
of  port." 

Mr.  Gann  (smacks).  "A  fine  fruity  | 
wine  as  ever  I  tasted.  I  suppose  you, 
Mr.  B.,  are  accustomed  only  to  claret. 
I've  'ad  it,  too,  in  my  time,  sir,  as 
Swigby  there  very  well  knows.  I 
travelled,  sir,  sure  le  Coiitinowf;  I 
assure  you,  and  drank  my  ghiss  of 
claret  with  the  best  man  in  JTrancj, 
or  England  either.  I  was  n't  always 
what  I  am,  sir."  | 

Mr.  Brandon.  "You  don't  look  as  j 
if  you  were."  i 

Mr.  Gann.  "  No,  sir.     Before  that  { 

gas  came  in,  I  was  head,  sir,  of  I 

one  of  the  fust  'ouses  in  the  hoil-trade,  ' 
Gann,     Biubbery   '&    Gann,     sir, — ' 
Thames  Street,  City.     I  'd  my  box  at 
Putney,  as  good  a  gig  and  horse  as  I 
my  friend  there  drives." 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  Ay,  and  a  better  too,  | 
Gann,  I  make  no  doubt."  j 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Well,  say  a  better.  I  ] 
had  a  better,  if  money  could  fetch  it,  I 
sir ;  and  I  did  n't  spare  that,  I  warrant 
you.  No,  no,  James  Gann  did  n't 
grudge  his  purse,  sir;  and  had  his 
friends  around  him,  as  he  's  'appy  to 
'ave  now,  sir.  Mr.  Brandon,  your 
'ealth,  sir,  and  may  we  hoften  meet 


under  this  ma'ogany.  Swigby  my 
boy,  God  bless  you  ! " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Your  very  good 
health." 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  Thank  you,  Gann. 
Here 's  to  you,  and  long  life  and  jiros- 
periiy  and  happiness  to  you  and  yours. 
Bless  you,  Jim  my  boy  ;  Heaven  bless 
you !  I  say  this,  Mr.  Bandon  — 
Brandon  — what 's  your  name —  tliere 
ain't  a  better  fellow  in  all  Margate 
than  James  Gann,  —  no,  nor  in  all 
England.  Here 's  Mrs.  Gann,  gents, 
and  the  family.  Mrs.  Gann  ! " 
(drinks.) 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Mrs.  Gann.  Hip, 
hip,  hurrah  !"  (drinks.) 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Mrs.  Gann,  and 
thank  you,  gents.  A  fine  woman, 
Mr.  B. ;  ain't  she  now  ?  Ah,  if  you  'd 
seen  'er  when  I  married  her!  Gad, 
she  was  fine  then  —  an  out  and  outer, 
sir  !     Such  a  figure !  " 

Mr.  Swigby.  •'  You  'd  choose  none 
but  a  good  'un,  I  war'nt.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Did  I  ever  tell  you 
of  my  duel  along  with  the  regimental 
doctor  ?  No  !  Tlien  I  will.  I  was 
a  young  chap,  you  see,  in  those  days ; 
and  when  I  saw  her  at  Brussels  — 
( Brusell,  they  call  it)  —  I  was  right 
slick  up  over  head  and  ears  in  love 
witli  her  at  once.  But  what  was  to 
be  done  1  There  was  another  gent 
in  the  case,  —  a  regimental  doctor, 
sir,  —  a  reg'lar  dragon.  '  Faint 
heart,'  says  I,  '  never  won  a  fair 
lady,'  and  so  I  made  so  bold.  She 
took  me,  sent  the  doctor  to  the  right 
about.  I  met  him  one  morning  in 
the  park  at  Brussels,  and  stood  to 
him,  sir,  like  a  man.  When  the 
affair  was  over,  my  second,  a  leften- 
ant  of  dragoons  told  me,  '  Gann,' 
says  he,  '  I  've  seen  many  a  man 
under  fire,  —  I  'm  a  Waterloo  man,' 
says  he,  —  '  and  have  rode  by  Wct 
lington  many  a  long  day  ;  but  I  nev- 
er, for  coolness,  see  such  a  man  as 
you.'  Gents,  here  's  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  and  the  British  army  !  " 
(the  gents  drink.) 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Did  you  kill  th* 
doctor,  sir  ? " 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


27 


Mr.  Gann.  "  Why,  no,  sir  ;  I  shot 
in  the  hair." 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Shot  him  in  the 
hair  !  Egad,  that  was  a  severe  shot, 
and  a  very  lucky  escape  the  doctor 
had  of  it  1  Whereabout  in  the  hair  ? 
a  whisker,  sir  ;  or,  perhaps,  a  pig- 
taU  1" 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  Haw,  haw,  haw  ! 
shot'n  in  the  hair,  —  capital,  capi- 
tal!  " 

Mr.  Gann,  who  has  grown  very  red. 
"  No,  sir ;  there  may  be  some  mis- 
take in  my  pronounciation,  which  I 
did  n't  expect  to  have  laughed  at,  at 
my  hown  table." 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  My  dear  sir  !  I 
protest  and  vow  —  " 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Never  mind  it,  sir. 
I  gave  you  my  best,  and  did  m\'  best 
to  make  you  welcome.  If  you  like 
better  to  make  fun  of  me,  do,  sir. 
That  may  be  the  genteel  way,  but 
hang  me  if  it  's  hour  way ;  is  it, 
Jack  f  Our  way ;  I  beg  your  par- 
don, sir." 

Mr.  Sicigby.  "  Jim,  Jim  !  for 
Heaven's  sake !  —  peace  and  harmony 
of  the  evening  -^  conviviality  —  so- 
cial enjoyment  —  did  n't  mean  it  — 
did  you  mean  anything,  Mr.  Whut- 
d'-ye-call-'im  ? " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Nothing,  upon  my 
honor  as  a  gentleman  !  " 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Well,  then,  there  's 
my  hand !  "  and  good-natured  Gann 
tried  to  forget  the  insult,  and  to  talk 
as  if  nothing  had  occurred  :  but  he 
had  been  wounded  in  the  most  sensi- 
tive point  in  which  a  man  can  be 
touched  by  his  superior,  and  never 
forgot  Brandon's  joke.  That  night 
nt  the  club,  when  dreadfully  tipsy,  he 
made  several  speeches  on  the  subject, 
and  burst  into  tears  many  times. 
The  pleasure  of  the  evening  was  quite 
spoiled  ;  and,  as  the  conversation  be- 
came vapid  and  dull,  we  shall  refrain 
from  reporting  it.  Mr.  Brandon 
speedily  took  leave,  but  had  not  the 
courage  to  face  the  ladies  at  tea ;  to 
whom,  it  appears,  the  reconciled 
Becky  had  brought  that  refreshing 
beverage. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

IN  WHICH  MR.  FITCH  PROCLAIMS  HIS 
LOVE,  AND  MR.  BRAKDON  PRE- 
PARES   FOR    WAR. 

From  the  splendid  hall  in  which 
Mrs.  Gann  was  dispensing  her  hospi- 
tality, the  celebrated  painter,  Andrea 
Fitch,  rushed  forth  in  a  state  of  mind 
even  more  delirious  than  that  which 
he  usually  enjoyed.  He  looked  abroad 
into  the  street :  all  there  was  dusk 
and  lonely  ;  the  rain  falling  heavily, 
the  wind  playing  Pandean  pipes  and 
whistling  down  the  chimney-pots, 
"  I  love  the  storm,"  said  Fitch,  sol- 
emnly ;  and  he  put  his  great  Spanish 
cloak  round  him  in  the  most  approved 
manner  (it  was  of  so  prodigious  a 
size  that  the  tail  of  it,  as  it  twirled 
over  his  shoulder,  whisked  away  a 
lodging-card  from  the  door  of  the 
house  opposite  Mr.  Gann's).  "  I  love 
the  storm  and  solitude,"  said  he, 
lighting  a  large  pipe  filled  full  of  tlie 
fragrant  Oronooko  ;  and  thus  armed, 
he  passed  raj/idly  down  the  street,  his 
hat  cocked  over  his  ringlets. 

Andrea  did  not  like  smoking,  but 
he  used  a  pipe  as  a  part  of  his  pro- 
fession as  an  artist,  and  as  one  of  the 
picturesque  parts  of  his  costume  ;  in 
like  manner,  though  he  did  not  fence, 
he  always  travelled  about  with  a  pair 
of  foils  ;  and  quite  unconscious  of 
music,  nevertheless  had  a  guitar  con- 
stantly near  at  hand.  Without  such 
properties  a  painter's  spectacle  is  not 
complete  ;  and  now  he  determined  to 
add  to  them  another  indispensable 
requisite,  —  a  mistress.  "  What  great 
artist  was  ever  without  one  ? "  thought 
he.  Long,  long  had  he  sighed  for 
some  one  whom  he  might  love,  some 
one  to  whom  he  might  address  the 
poems  which  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  making.  Hundreds  of  such  frag- 
ments had  he  composed,  addressed  to 
Leila,  Ximena,  Ada,  —  imaginary 
beauties,  whom  he  courted  in  dreamy 
verse.  With  what  joy  would  he  re- 
place all  those  by  a  real  charmer  of 
flesh  and  blood  !  Away  he  went, 
then,  on  this  evening,  —  the  tyranny 


88 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


of  Mrs.  Gann  towards  poor  Caroline 
having  awakened  all  his  sympathies  in 
the  gentle  girl's  favor,  —  determined 
now  and  forever  to  make  her  the  mis- 
tress of  his  heart.  Mouna-Lisa,  the 
Fornarina,  Leonardo,  Uaphael,  —  he 
thought  of  all  these,  and  vowed  that 
his  Caroline  should  be  made  famous 
and  live  forever  on  his  canvas.  While 
Mrs.  Gann  was  preparing  for  her 
friends,  and  entertaining  them  at  tea 
and  whist ;  whde  Caroline,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  love  she  inspired,  was 
weeping  up  stairs  in  her  little  garret ; 
while  Mr.  Brandon  was  enjoying  the 
refined  conversation  of  Gann  and 
Swigbr,  over  their  glass  and  pipe  in 
the  office,  Andrea  walked  abroad  by 
the  side  of  the  ocean  ;  and,  before  he 
was  wet  through,  walked  himself  into 
the  most  fervid  affection  for  poor  per- 
secuted Caroline.  The  reader  might 
have  observed  him  (had  not  the  night 
been  very  dark,  and  a  great  deal  too 
wet  to  allow  a  sensible  reader  to  go 
abroad  on  such  an  errand)  at  the  sea- 
shore standing  on  a  rock,  and  draw- 
ing from  his  bosom  a  locket  which 
contained  a  curl  of  hair  tied  up  in 
ribbon.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  flung  it  away  from 
him  into  the  black  boiling  waters  be- 
low him. 

"  No  other  'air  but  thine,  Caroline, 
shall  ever  rest  near  this  'art !  "  he 
said,  and  kissel  thj  locket  and  re- 
stored it  to  its  place.  Light-minded 
youth,  whose  hair  was  it  that  he  thus 
fluni^  away  ?  How  m  my  times  had 
Andrea  shown  that  very  ringlet  in 
strictest  confidence  to  s  ;veral  brethren 
of  ilia  brush,  aud  declared  that  it  was 
the  hair  of  a  dear  girl  in  Spain  whom 
he  loved  to  madness  ?  Alas  !  't  was 
but  a  fiction  of  his  fevered  brain ; 
every  one  of  his  friends  had  a  locket 
of  hair,  and  Andrea,  who  had  no  love 
until  now,  had  clipped  this  precious 
token  from  the  wig  of  a  lovely  lay- 
figure,  with  cast-iron  joints  and  a 
card-board  head,  that  had  stood  for 
some  time  in  his  atelier.  I  don't 
know  that  he  felt  any  shame  about 
the  proceeding,  for  he  was  of  such  a 


warm  imagination  that  be  had  grown 
to  believe  that  the  hair  did  actually 
come  from  a  girl  in  Spain,  and  only 
parted  with  it  on  yielding  to  a  superior 
attachment. 

This  attachment  being  fixed  on, 
the  young  painter  came  home  wet 
through  ;  passed  the  night  in  reading 
Byron ;  making  sketches,  and  burn- 
ing them  ;  writing  poems  to  Caroline, 
and  expunging  tliem  with  pitiless 
india-rubber.  A  romantic  man  makes 
a  point  of  sitting  up  all  night,  and 
pacing  his  chamber ;  and  you  may 
see  many  a  composition  of  Andrea's 
dated  "Midnight,  10th  of  March,  A. 
F.,"  with  his  peculiar  flourish  over  the 
initials.  He  was  not  sorry  to  be  told 
in  the  morning,  by  the  ladies  at  break- 
fast, that  he  looked  dreadfully  pale ; 
and  answered,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
forehead,  and  shaking  his  head 
gloomily,  that  he  could  get  no  sleep  : 
and  then  he  would  heave  a  huge  sigh ; 
and  Miss  Bella  and  Miss  Linda  would 
look  at  each  other,  and  grin  according 
to  their  wont.  He  was  glad,  I  say,  to 
have  his  woe  remarked,  and  continued 
his  sleeplessness  for  two  or  three 
nights ;  but  he  was  certainly  still 
more  glad  when  he  heard  Mr.  Bran- 
don, on  the  fourth  mominj,  cry  out, 
in  a  shrill  angry  voice,  to  Becky  the 
maid,  to  give  the  gentleman  up  stairs 
his  compliments,  —  Mr.  Brandon's 
compliments,  — and  tell  him  that  he 
could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the 
horrid  trampling  he  kept  up.  "  I  am 
hanged  if  1  stay  in  the  house  a  night 
longer,"  added  the  first-floor  sharply, 
"  if  th\t  Mr.  Fitch  kicks  up  such  a 
confounded  noise  !  "  Mr.  Fitch's 
point  was  gained,  and  henceforth  he 
was  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  ;  for  his  wish 
was  not  only  to  be  in  love,  but  to  let 
everjbody  know  that  he  was  in  love, 
or  where  is  the  use  of  a  belle  jxission  ? 

So,  whenever  he  saw  Caroline,  at 
meals,  or  in  the  passage,  he  used  to 
stare  at  her  with  the  utmost  power  of 
his  big  eyes,  and  fall  to  groaning  most 
pathetically.  He  used  to  leave  his  meals 
untasted,  groan,  heave  sighs,  aud  stare 
incessantly.      Mrs.    Gann    and    her 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORYi 


29 


feldest  (laughters  were  astonished  at 
these  manoeuvres ;  for  they  never 
suspected  that  any  man  could  possibly 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  fall  in  love  with 
Caroline.  At  length  the  suspicion 
came  upon  them,  created  immense 
laughter  and  delight ;  and  the  ladies 
did  not  fail  to  rally  Caroline  in  their 
usual  elegant  way.  Gann,  too,  loved 
R  joke  (much  polite  waggery  had  this 
worthy  man  practised  in  select  inn- 
parlors  for  twenty  years  past),  and 
would  call  poor  CaroUne  "  Mrs.  F." ; 
and  say  that  instea,do{ Fetch  and  Carry, 
as  he  used  to  name  her,  he  should 
style  her  Fitch  and  Carry  for  the 
future  ;  and  laugh  at  this  great  pun, 
and  make  many  others  of  a  similar 
sort,  that  set  Caroline  blushing. 

Indeed,  the  girl  suffered  a  great  deal 
more  from  this  raillery  than  at  first  may 
be  ima}j:ined ;  for  after  the  first  awe 
inspired  by  Fitch's  whiskers  had  passed 
away,  and  he  had  drawn  the  young 
ladies'  pictures,  and  made  designs  in 
their  albums,  and  in  the  midst  of  their 
jokes  and  conversation  had  remained 
perfectly  silent,  the  Gann  family  had 
determined  that  the  man  was  an  idiot  • 
and,  indeed,  were  not  very  wide  of  the 
mark.  In  everything  except  his  own 
peculiar  art  honest  Fitch  was  an  idiot  ; 
and  as  upon  the  subject  of  painting, 
the  Ganns,  like  most  people  of  their 
class  in  England,  were  profoundly 
ignorant,  it  came  to  pass  that  he 
would  breakfast  and  dine  for  many 
days  in  th^ir  company,  and  not  utter 
one  single  syllable.  So  they  looked 
ujjon  him  with  extreme  pity  and  con- 
tempt, as  a  harmless  good-natured, 
crack-brained  creature,  quite  below 
them  in  the  scale  of  intellect,  and  only 
to  be  endured  because  he  paid  a  certain 
number  of  shillings  weekly  to  the 
Gann  exchequer.  Mrs.  Gann  in  all 
companies  was  accustomed  to  talk 
about  her  idiot.  Neighbors  and  chil- 
dren used  to  peer  at  him  as  he  strutted 
down  the  street ,  and  though  every 
young  lady,  including  my  dear  Caro- 
line, is  flattered  by  having  a  lover,  at 
least  they  don't  like  such  a  lover  as 
this.    The  Misses  Macarty  (after  hav- 


ing set  their  caps  at  him  very  fiercely, 
and  quarrelled  concerning  him  on  his 
first  coming  to  lodge  at  their  house) 
vowed  and  protested  now  that  he  was 
no  better  than  a  chimpanzee ;  and 
Caroline  and  Becky  agreed  that  this 
insult  was  as  great  as  any  that  could 
be  paid  to  the  painter.  "  He  's  a  good 
creature,  too,"  said  Becky,  "  crack- 
brained  as  he  is.  Do  you  know,  miss, 
he  gave  me  half  a  sovereign  to  buy  a 
new  collar,  after  that  business  t'other 
day  ? " 

"  And  did  —  Mr. ,  —  did  the 

first-floor  say  anything V  asked 
Caroline. 

"  Did  n't  he  !  he  's  a  funny  gentle- 
man, that  Brandon,  sure  enough; 
and  when  I  took  him  up  breakfast 
next  morning,  asked  about  Sims  the 
pilot,  and  what  I  gi'ed  Sims  for  the 
collar  and  brooch,  —  he,  he  !  " 

And  this  was  indeed  a  correct  re- 
port of  Mr.  Brandon's  conversation 
with  Becky ;  he  had  been  infinitely 
amused  with  the  whole  transaction, 
and  wrote  his  friend  the  viscount  a 
capital  facetious  account  of  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  native  inhab- 
itants of  the  isle  of  Thanet. 

And  now,  when  Mr.  Fitch's  passion 
was  fully  developed,  —  as  far,  that  is, 
as  sighs  and  ogles  could  give  it  utter- 
ance, —  a  curious  instance  of  that 
spirit  of  contradiction  for  which  our 
race  is  remarkable  was  seen  in  the 
behavior  of  Mr.  Brandon.  Although 
Caroline,  in  the  depths  of  her  little 
silly  heart,  had  set  him  down  for  her 
divinity,  her  wondrous  fairy  prince, 
who  was  to  deliver  her  from  her 
present  miserable  durance,  she  had 
never  by  word  or  deed  acquainted 
Brandon  with  her  inclination  for  him, 
but  had,  with  instinctive  modesty, 
avoided  him  more  sedulously  than 
before.  He,  too,  had  never  bestowed 
a  thought  upon  her.  How  should 
siich  a  Jove  as  Mr.  Brandon,  from 
the  cloudy  summit  of  his  fashionable 
Olympus,  look  down  and  perceive 
such  an  humble,  retiring  being  as 
poor  little  Caroline  Gann  f  Think- 
ing her  at  first  not  disagreeable,  ha 


80 


A  SHABBY   GEXTEEL  STORY. 


had  never,  until  the  day  of  the  din- 
ner, bestowed  one  single  further 
thought  upon  her;  and  only  when 
exasperated  by  the  Miss  Macartys' 
behavior  towards  him,  did  he  begin 
to  think  how  sweet  it  would  be  to 
make  them  jealous  and  unhappy. 

"  The  uncouth  grinning  monsters," 
said  he,  "  with  their  horrible  court  of 
Bob  Smiths  and  Jack  Joneses,  daring 
to  look  down  upon  me,  a  gentleman, 
me,  the  celebrated  mangeur  des  cceurs, — 
a  man  of  genius,  fashion,  and  noble 
family !  If  I  could  but  revenge  my- 
self on  them !  What  injury  can  I 
invent  to  wound  them." 

It  is  curious  to  what  points  a  man 
in  his  passion  will  go.  Air.  Brandon 
had  long  since,  in  fact,  tried  to  do  the 
greatest  possible  injury  to  the  young 
ladies  ;  for  it  had  been,  at  the  first 
dawn  of  his  acquaintaace,  as  we  are 
bound  with  much  sorrow  to  confess, 
his  fi.^ed  intention  to  ruin  one  or  the 
other  of  them.  And  when  the  young 
ladies  had,  by  their  coldness  and  indif- 
ference to  him,  frustrated  this  benevo- 
lent intention,  he  straightway  fancied 
that  they  had  injured  him  severely, 
and  cast  about  for  means  to  revenge 
himself  upon  them. 

This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  very 
delicate  one  to  treat,  —  for  in  words, 
at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be 
■wonderfully  moral,  and  refuses  to 
hear  discourses  upon  such  subjects. 
But  human  nature,  as  far  as  I  am 
able  to  learn,  has  not  much  changed 
■since  the  time  when  Richardson 
wrote,  and  Hogarth  painted,  a  cen- 
tury ago.  There  are  wicked  Love- 
laces abroad,  ladies,  now  as  then, 
when  it  was  considered  no  shame  to 
expose  the  rogues ;  and  pardon  us, 
therefore,  for  hinting  that  such  there 
be.  Elegant  acts  of  rouerie,  such  as 
that  meditated  by  Mr.  Brandon,  are 
often  performed  still  by  dashing 
young  men  of  the  world,  who  think 
no  sin  of  an  amourefte',  but  glory  in  it, 
especially  if  the  victim  be  a  person  of 
mean  condition.  Had  Brandon  suc- 
ceeded (such' is  the  high  moral  state 
of  our  British  youth),  all  his  friends 


would  have  pronounced  him,  and  ho 
would  have  considered  himself,  to  be  a 
very  lucky,  captivating  dog ;  nor,  as 
I  believe,  would  he  have  had  a  single 
pang  of  conscience  for  the  rascally 
action  which  he  had  committed. 
This  supreme  act  of  scoundrelism  has 
man  permitted  to  himself — to  de- 
ceive women.  When  we  consider 
how  he  has  availed  himself  of  the 
privilege  so  created  by  him,  indeed 
one  may  sympathize  with  the  ad- 
vocates of  woman's  rights  who  point 
out  this  monstrous  wrong.  We  have 
read  of  that  wretched  woman  of  old 
whom  the  pious  Pharisees  were  for 
stoning  incontinently ;  but  we  don't 
hear  that  they  made  any  outcry 
against  the  man  who  was  concerned  in 
the  crime.  Where  was  he  ?  Happy, 
no  doubt,  and  easy  in  mind,  and  re- 
galing some  choice  friends  over  a 
bottle  with  the  historj'  of  his  success. 

Being  thus  injured  then,  Mr.  Bran- 
don longed  for  revenge.  How  should 
he  repay  these  impertinent  young 
women  for  slighting  his  addresses  ? 
"  Pardi,"  said  he  ;  "just  to  punish 
their  pride  and  insolence,  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  make  love  to  their 
sister." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  some  time, 
condescend  to  j)eribrm  this  threat. 
Eagles  such  as  Brandon  do  not  sail 
down  from  the  clouds  in  order  to 
pounce  u]X)n  small  flies,  and  soar  air- 
wards  again,  contented  with  such  an 
ignoble  booty.  In  a  word,  he  never 
gave  a  minute's  thought  to  Miss  Caro- 
line, until  further  circumstances  oc- 
curred which  caused  this  great  man  to 
consider  her  as  an  object  somewhat 
worthy  of  his  remark. 

The  violent  affection  suddenly  ex- 
hibited by  Mr.  Fitch,  the  painter,  to- 
wards poor  little  Caroline  was  the 
point  which  determined  Brandon  to 
begin  to  act. 

"  My  dear  Viscount,"  —  (wrote 

he  to  the  same  Lord  Cinqbars  whom 

he  formerly  addressed)  —  "  Give  me 

joy ;  for  in  a  week's  time  it  is  my  in- 

1  tention  to  be  violently  in  love,  —  and 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


31 


/bve  is  no  small  amusement  in  a  water- 
ing-place iu  winter. 

"  1  told  you  about  the  fair  Juliana 
Gann  and  her  family.  I  iurgot 
whether  I  mentioned  how  the  Juliana 
had  two  fair  daughters,  the  Rosalind 
and  the  Isabella ;  and  another,  Caro- 
line by  name,  not  so  good-looking  as 
her  half-sisters,  but,  nevertheless,  a 
pleasing  young  person. 

"  Well,  when  I  came  hither,  I  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  fall  in  love  with 
the  two  handsomest ;  and  did  so,  tak- 
ing many  walks  with  them,  talking 
much  nonsense  ;  passing  long  dismal 
evenings  over  horrid  tea  with  them 
and  their  mamma :  laying  regular 
siege,  in  fact,  to  these  Margate  beau- 
ties, who,  according  to  the  common 
rule  in  such  cases,  could  not,  I 
thought,  last  long. 

"  Miserable  deception  !  disgusting 
aristocratic  blindness  !  "  (Mr.  Bran- 
don always  assumed  that  his  own  high 
birth  and  eminent  position  were 
granted.)  "Would  j'ou  believe  it, 
that  1,  who  have  seen,  fought,  and 
conquered  in  so  many  places,  should 
have  iMJcn  ignominiously  deieated 
here  1  Just  as  American  Jackson  de- 
feated our  Peninsular  veterans,  I,  an 
old  Continental  conqueror  too,  have 
been  overcome  by  this  ignoble  enemy. 
These  women  have  intrenched  them- 
selves so  firmly  in  their  vulgarity, 
that  I  have  been  beaten  back  several 
times  with  disgrace,  being  quite  un- 
able to  make  an  impression.  The 
monsters,  too,  keep  up  a  dreadfiil  fire 
from  behind  their  intrenchments  ; 
and  besides  have  raised  the  whole 
country  against  me :  in  a  word,  all 
the  snobs  of  their  acquaintance  are  in 
arms.  There  is  Bob  Smith,  the 
linen-draper;  Harry  Jones,  who  keeps 
the  fancy  tea-shop ;  young  Glauber, 
the  apothecary ;  and  sundry  other 
persons,  who  are  ready  to  eat  me 
when  they  see  me  in  the  streets  ;  and 
are  all  at  the  beck  of  the  victorious 
Amazons. 

"  How  is  a  gentleman  to  make  head 
against  such  a  canaille  as  this  ?  —  a 
regular  jacquerie.     Once  or  twice  I 


have  thought  of  retreating ;  but  a  re- 
treat, fur  sundry  reasons  1  have,  is  in- 
convenient. I  can't  go  to  London ; 
I  am  known  at  Dover ;  I  belieye  there 
is  a  bill  against  me  at  Canterbury ;  at 
Chatham  there  are  sundry  quartered 
regiments  whose  recognition  1  should 
be  unwilling  to  risk.  I  must  stay 
here  —  and  be  hanged  to  the  place 
—  until  my  better  star  shall 
rise. 

"  But  I  am  determined  that  my 
stay  shall  be  to  some  purpose ;  and  so 
to  show  how  persevering  I  am,  I 
shall  make  one  more  trial  upon  the 
third  daughter,  —  yes,  upon  the  third 
daughter,  a  family  Cinderella,  who 
shall,  I  am  determined,  make  her  sis- 
ters crever  with  envy.  I  merely  mean 
fun,  3-ou  know,  —  not  mischief,  —  for 
Cinderella  is  but  a  little  child :  and, 
besides,  I  am  the  most  harmless  fel- 
low breathing,  but  must  have  my 
joke.  Now,  Cinderella  has  a  lover, 
the  bearded  painter  of  whom  I  spoke 
to  you  in  a  former  letter.  He  has 
lately  plunged  into  the  most  extraor- 
dinary fits  of  passion  for  her,  and  is 
more  mad  than  even  he  was  before. 
Woe  betide  you,  O  painter !  I  have 
nothing  to  do  :  a  month  to  do  that 
nothing  in  ;  in  that  time,  mark  my 
words,  I  will  laugh  at  that  painters 
beard.  Should  you  like  a  lock  of  it, 
or  a  sofa  stuffed  with  it?  there  is 
beard  enough  :  or  should  you  like  to 
see  a  specimen  of  poor  little  Cinderel- 
la's golden  ringlets  ?  Command  your 
slave.  I  wish  I  had  paper  enough  to 
write  you  an  account  of  a  grand  Gann 
dinner  at  which  I  assisted,  and  of  a 
scene  which  there  took  place;  and 
how  Cinderella  was  dressed  out,  not  by 
a  fair)',  but  by  a  charitable  kitchen- 
maid,  and  was  turned  out  of  the  room 
by  her  indignant  mamma,  for  appear- 
ing in  the  scullion's  finery.  But  my 
Jbrte  does  not  lie  in  such  descriptions 
of  polite  life.  We  drank  port,  and 
toasts  after  dinner :  here  is  the  menu, 
and  the  names  and  order  of  the 
eaters." 

***** 

The  bill  of  fare  has  been  given  al- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  " 


ready,  and  need  not,  therefore,  be 
ajaiii  laid  before  the  public. 

"  VVliat  a  fellow  that  is  ! "  said 
young  Lord  Cinqbars,  reading  the 
letter  to  his  friends,  and  in  a  profound 
admiration  of  his  tutor's  genius 

"  And  to  think  that  he  was  a  read- 
ing man,  too,  and  took  a  double 
first,"  cried  another  ;  "  why,  the  man 
is  an  Admirable  Crichton." 

"  Upon  my  life,  though,  he  's  a  little 
too  bad,"  said  a  third,  who  was  a 
moralist.  And  with  this  afresh  bowl 
of  milk-punch  came  reeking  from  the 
college  butteries,  and  the  jovial  party 
discussed  that. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONTAINS    A     GREAT     DEAL    OF    COM- 
PLICATED LOVE-MAKING. 

The  Misses  Macarty  were  exces- 
sively indignant  that  Mr.  Fit'/h  should 
have  had  the  audacity  to  fall  in  love 
with  their  sister;  and  poor  <-aroline's 
life  was  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  j 
made  much  the  happier  by  the  envy 
and  passion  thus  excited.  Mr  Fitch's  ^ 
amour  was  the  source  of  a  great  deal 
of  pain  to  her.  Her  mother  would 
tauntingly  say,  that  as  both  were  beg- 
gars, they  could  not  do  better  than 
marry ;  and  declared  in  the  same  sa- 
tirical way,  that  she  should  like  noth- 
ing better  than  to  see  a  large  family 
of  grandchildren  about  her,  to  be 
plagues  and  burdens  upon  her,  as  her 
daughter  was.  The  short  way  would 
have  been,  when  the  young  painter's 
intentions  were  manifest,  whi'h  tliey 
pretty  speedily  were,  to  have  requested 
him  immediately  to  quit  the  house ;  or, 
as  Mr.  Gann  said  "  to  give  him  the 
sack  at  once  " ;  to  which  measure  the 
worthy  man  indignantly  avowed  that 
he  woulil  have  resort.  But  his  lady 
would  not  allow  of  any  such  rudeness ; 
although,  for  her  part,  she  professed 
the  strongest  scorn  and  contempt  for 
the  painter.  For  the  painfiil  fact 
must  l)C  stated:  Fitch  had  a  short 
t'lmi  previously  paid  no  less  a  sum 
than  a  whole  quarter's  board    and 


lodging  in  advance,  at  Mrs.  Gann's 
humble  request,  and  he  possessed  his 
landlady's  receipt  for  that  sum  ;  the 
mention  of  which  circumstance  si- 
lenced Gann's  objections  at  once. 
And  indeed,  it  is  pretty  certain  that, 
with  all  her  taunts  to  her  daughter 
and  just  abuse  of  Fitch's  poverty, 
Mrs.  Gann  in  her  heart  was  not  alto- 
gether averse  to  the  match.  In  the 
first  place,  she  loved  match-making ; 
next,  she  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of 
her  daughter  at  any  rate ;  and,  besides. 
Fitch's  aunt,  the  auctioneer's  wite, 
was  rich,  and  had  no  children  ;  paint- 
ers, as  she  had  heard,  make  often  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  Fitch  might 
be  a  clever  one,  for  aught  she  knew. 
So  he  was  allowed  to  remain  in  th« 
house,  an  undeclared  but  very  assidu- 
ous lover  ;  and  to  sigh,  and  to  moan, 
and  make  verses  and  portraits  of  his 
beloved,  and  l)uild  castles  in  the  air 
as  best  he  might.  Indeed  our  hum- 
ble Cinderella  was  in  a  very  curious 
position.  She  felt  a  tender  passion 
for  the  first-Hoor,  and  was  adored  by 
the  second-iloor,  and  had  to  wait  up- 
on both  at  the  summons  of  the  bell 
of  either;  and  iis  the  poor  little  thing 
was  compelled  not  to  notice  any  of 
the  sighs  and  glances  which  the  paint- 
er bestowed  upon  her,  she  also  had 
schooled  herself  to  maintain  a  quiet 
demeanor  towards  Mr.  Brandon,  and 
not  allow  him  to  discover  the  secret 
which  was  laboring  in  her  little  breast. 
I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a 
pretty  general  rule,  that  mostromantic 
little  girls  of  Caroline's  age  have  such 
a  budding  sentiment  as  this  young 
person  entertained  ;  quite  innocent,  of 
course ;  nourished  and  talked  of  in 
delicious  secrecy  to  the  confidante  of 
the  hour.  Or  else  what  are  novels 
made  for?  Had  Caroline  read  of 
Valancourt  and  Emily  for  nothing,  or 
gathered  no  good  example  from  those 
five  tear-fraught  volumes  which  de- 
scribe the  loves  of  Miss  Helen  Mar 
and  Sir  William  VVallaee  ?  Many  a 
time  had  she  depicted  Brandon  in  a 
fancy  costume,  such  as  the  fascinating 
Valancourt  wore ;  or  painted  hersdf 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORt. 


33 


as  Helen,  tying  a  sash  round  her 
knight's  cuirass,  and  watching  him 
forth  to  battle.  Silly  fancies,  no 
doubt ;  but  consider,  madam,  the  poor 
girl's  age  and  education  ;  the  only  in- 
struction she  had  ever  received  was 
from  these  tender,  kind-hearted,  silly 
books :  the  only  happiness  which  Fate 
had  allowed  her  was  in  this  little  silent 
world  of  fancy.  It  would  be  hard  to 
grudge  the  poor  thing  her  dreams ; 
and  many  such  did  she  have,  and  im- 
part blushingly  to  honest  Becky,  as 
they  sat  by  the  humble  kitchen-fire. 

Although  it  cost  her  heart  a  great 
pang,  she  had  once  ventured  to  im- 
plore her  mother  not  to  send  her  up 
stairs  to  the  lodgers'  rooms,  for  she 
shrunk  at  the  notion  of  the  occurrence 
that  Brandon  should  discover  her  re- 
gard for  him  ;  but  this  point  had  never 
entered  Mrs.  Gann's  sagacious  head. 
She  thought  her  daughter  wished  to 
avoid  Fitch,  and  sternly  bade  her  do 
her  duty,  and  not  give  herself  such 
impertinent  airs ;  and,  indeed,  it  can't 
be  said  that  poor  Caroline  was  very 
sorry  at  being  compelled  to  continue 
to  see  Brandon.  To  do  both  gentle- 
men justice,  neither  ever  said  a  word 
unfit  for  Caroline  to  hear.  Fitch 
would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  a 
thousand  wild  horses  rather  than 
have  breathed  a  single  syllable  to 
hurt  her  feelings ;  and  Brandon, 
though  by  no  means  so  squeamish  on 
ordinary  occasions,  was  innately  a 
gentleman,  and  from  taste  rather  than 
from  virtue,  was  carefully  respectful 
in  his  behavior  to  her. 

As  for  the  Misses  Macarty  them- 
selves, it  has  been  stated  that  they 
had  already  given  away  their  hearts 
several  times ;  Miss  Isabella  being  at 
this  moment  attached  to  a  certain 
young  wine-merchant,  and  to  Lieuten- 
ant or  Colonel  Swabber  of  the  Span- 
ish service  ;  and  Miss  Rosalind  hav- 
ing a  decided  fondness  for  a  foreign 
nobleman,  with  black  mustachios, 
who  had  paid  a  visit  to  Margate. 
Of  Miss  Bella's  lovers,  Swabber  had 
dissappeared ;  but  she  still  met  the 
wine-merchant  pretty  often,  and  it  is 
2* 


believed  had  gone  very  nigh  to  accept 
him.  As  for  Miss  Rosalind,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  the  course  of  her 
true  love  ran  by  no  means  smoothly : 
the  Frenchman  had  turned  out  to  be 
not  a  marquess,  but  a  billiard-marker ; 
and  a  sad,  sore  subject  the  disappoint- 
ment was  with  the  neglected  lady. 

j  We  should  have  spoken  of  it  long 
since,  had  the  subject  been  one  that 
was  much  canvassed  in  the  Gann 
family ;    but  once   when   Gann   had 

I  endeavored  to  rally  his  step-daughter 
on  this  unfortunate  attachment  (using 
for  the  purpose  those  delicate  terms 

I  of  wit  for  which  the  honest  gentleman 

■  was  always  famous).  Miss  Linda  had 
flown  into  such  a  violent  fury,  and 
comported  herself  in  a  way  so  dread- 
ful, that  James  Gann,  Esquire,  was 
fairly  frightened  out  of  his  wits  by  the 
threats,  screams,  and  imprecations 
which  she  uttered.  Miss  Bella,  who 
was  disposed  to  be  jocose  likewise, 
was  likewise  awed  into  silence ;  for 
her  dear  sister  talked  of  tearing  her 
eyes  out  that  minute,  and  uttered 
some  hints,  too,  regarding  love-mat- 
ters personally  aflPecting  Miss  Bella 
herself,  which  caused  that  young  lady 
to  turn  pale-red,  to  mutter  something 
about  "  wicked  lies,"  and  to  leave  the 
room  immediately.  Nor  was  the 
subject  ever  again  broached  by  the 
Ganns.  Even  when  Mrs.  Gann  once 
talked  about  that  odious  French  im- 
poster,  she  was  stopped  immediately, 
not  by  the  lady  concerned,  iiut  by 
Miss  Bella,  who  cried,  sharply, 
"  Mamma,  hold  your  tongue,  and 
don't  vex  our  dear  Linda  by  alluding 
to  any  such  stuff."  It  is  most  proba- 
ble that  the  young  ladies  had  had  a 
private  conference,  which,  beginning 
a  little  fiercely  at  first,  had  ended 
amicably  :  and  so  the  marquess  was 
mentioned  no  more. 

Miss  Linda,  then,  was  comparative- 
ly free  (for  Bob  Smith,  the  linen-dra- 
per, and  yoimg  Glauber,  the  apothe- 
cary, went  for  nothing) ;  and,  very 
luckily  for  her,  a  successor  was  found 
for  the  faithless  Frenchman,  almost 
immediately. 


34 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


This  gentleman  was  a  commoner, 
to  be  sure ;  but  had  a  good  estate  of 
five  hundred  a  year,  kept  his  horse 
and  gig,  and  was,  as  Mr.  Gann  re- 
marked, as  good  a  fellow  as  ever 
lived  Let  us  say  at  once  that  the 
new  lover  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Swigby.  From  the  day  when  he 
had  been  introduced  to  the  family 
he  appeared  to  be  very  much  attract- 
ed by  the  two  sisters ;  sent  a  turkey 
off  his  own  farm,  and  six  bottles  of 
prime  Hollands,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gann,  in  presents  ;  and,  in  ten  short 
days  after  his  first  visit,  had  informed 
his  friend  Gann  that  he  was  violently 
in  love  with  two  women  whose  names 
he  would  never  —  never  breathe.  The 
worthy  Gann  knew  right  well  how 
the  matter  was  ;  for  he  had  not  failed 
to  remark  Swigby's  melancholy,  and 
to  attribute  it  to  its  right  cause. 

Swigby  was    forty -eight  years   of 
age,  stout,  hearty,  gay,  much  given 
to  drink,  and  had  never  been  a  lady's 
man,  or,  indeed,  passed  half  a  dozen 
evenings     in     ladies'     society.       He 
thought  Gann  the  noblest  and  finest 
fellow  in  the  world.     He  never  heard 
any  singing   like  James's,  nor   any 
jokes  like  his  ;  nor  had  met  with  such 
gn  accomplished  gentleman  or  man  ; 
of  the  world.   "  Gann  has  his  faults," 
Swigby  would  say  at  the  "  Bag  of 
Nails  "  ;    "  which  of  us  has  not  ?  —  , 
but  I  tell  you  what,  he 's  the  greatest 
trump  I  ever  see."     Many  scores  of 
scores  had  he  paid  for  Gann,  many  i 
guineas  and  crown-pieces  lutd  he  lent  j 
him,  sim-e  he  came  into  his  property  \ 
.some  three  years  before.     What  were 
Swigl)y's  former  pursuits  I  can't  tell. 
What  need  we  care  ?     Had  n't  he  five  j 
hundred  a  year  now,  and  a  horse  and  , 
gig  ?     Ay,  that  he  had. 

Since  his  accession  to  fortune,  this 
gay  young  bachelor  had  taken  his 
share  (what  he  called  "  his  whack") 
of  pleasure;  had  been  at  one  —  nay, 
perhaps,  at  two  —  public-houses  every 
night ;  and  had  been  tipsy,  I  make 
no  doubt,  nearly  a  thousand  times  in 
the  course  of  the  three  years.  Many 
people  had  tried  to  cheat  him  j  but,  I 


no,  no !  he  knew  what  was  what,  and 
in  all  matters  of  money  was  simple 
and  shrewd.  Gann's  gentility  won 
him  ;  his  bragging,  his  ton,  and  the 
stylish  tuft  on  his  chin.  To  be  in- 
vited to  his  house  was  a  proud  mo- 
ment ;  and  when  he  went  away,  after 
the  banquet  described  in  the  last 
chapter,  he  was  in  a  perfect  ferment 
of  love  and  liquor. 

"  What  a  stylish  woman  is  that 
Mrs.  Gann  !  "  thought  he,  as  he  tum- 
bled into  bed  at  his  inn ;  "  fine  she 
must  have  been  as  a  gal !  "  fourteen 
stone  now,  without  saddle  or  bridle, 
and  no  mistake.  And  them  Miss 
Macartys.  Jupiter !  what  spank- 
ing, handsome,  elegant  creatures  !  — • 
real  elegance  in  both  on  'em  !  Such 
hair !  —  black 's  the  word  —  as  black 
as  my  mare ;  such  cheeks,  such  necks, 
and  shoulders  ! "  At  noon  he  re- 
peated these  observations  to  Gann 
himself,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  pier  with  that  gentleman,  smok- 
ing Manilla  cheroots.  He  was  in 
raptures  with  his  evening.  Gann  re- 
ceived his  praises  with  much  majestic 
good-humor. 

"Blood,  sir!"  said  he,  "blood's 
everything!  Them  gals  have  been 
brought  up  as  few  ever  have.  I  don't 
speak  of  myself;  but  their  mother  — 
their  mother  's  a  lady,  sir.  Show  me 
a  woman  in  England  as  is  better  bred 
or  knows  the  world  more  than  my 
Juliana ! " 

"  It  's  impawssible,"  said  Swigby. 

"  Think  of  the  company  we  've 
kep',  sir,  before  our  misfortunes,  —  the 
fust  in  the  land.  Brandenburg 
House,  sir, —  England's  injured  queen. 
Law  bless  you !  Juliana  was  always 
there." 

"I  make  no  doubt,  sir;  you  can 
see  it  in  her,"  said  Swigby,  solemnly. 

"  And  as  for  those  gals,  whv,  ain't 
they  related  to  the  fust  families  in 
Ireland,  sir  ?  —  In  course  they  are. 
As  I  said  before,  blood 's  everything ; 
and  those  young  women  have  the  best 
of  it :  they  are  connected  with  the 
reg'lar  old  noblesse." 

"  They  have  the  best  of  everythink. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


35 


I  'm  sure,"  said  Swigby,  "  and  de- 
serve it,  too,"  and  relapsed  into  his 
morning  remarks.  "  What  creatures ! 
what  elegance !  what  hair  and  eyes, 
sir!  —  black,  and  all  's  black,  as  I 
say.  What  complexion,  sir!  —  ay, 
ftnd  what  makes,  too !  Such  a  neck 
|ind  shoulders  I  never  see !  " 

Gann,  who  had  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  ( his  friend's  arm  being  hooked 
into  one  of  his),  here  suddenly  with- 
drew his  hand  from  its  hiding-place, 
clenched  his  fist,  assumed  a  horrible 
knowing  grin,  and  gave  Mr.  Swigby 
such  a  blow  in  the  ribs  as  wellnigh 
sent  him  into  the  water.  "  You  sly 
dog ! "  said  Mr.  Gann,  with  inex- 
pressible emphasis ;  "  you  've  found 
that  out,  too,  have  you  ?  Have  a 
care,  Joe  my  boy,  —  have  a  care." 

And  herewith  Gann  and  Joe  burst 
into  tremendous  roars  of  laughter, 
fresh  explosions  taking  place  at  inter- 
vals of  five  minutes  during  the  rest 
of  the  walk.  The  two  friends  parted 
exceedingly  happy;  and  when  they 
met  that  evening  at  "The  Nails" 
Gann  drew  Swigby  mysteriously  into 
the  bar,  and  thrust  into  his  hand  a 
triangular  piece  of  pink  paper,  which 
the  latter  read :  — 

"Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Ma- 
carty  request  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  Mr.  Swigby's  company  (if  you 
have  no  better  engagement)  to  tea  to- 
morrow evening,  at  half  past  five. 
^'  Margarrtla  Cottage,  Salamanca  Road 
north,  Thursday  evening." 

The  faces  of  the  two  gentlemen 
were  wonderfully  expressive  of  satis- 
faction as  this  communication  passed 
between  them.  And  I  am  led  to  be- 
lieve that  Mrs.  Gann  had  been  un- 
usually pleased  with  her  husband's 
conduct  on  that  day,  for  honest  James 
had  no  less  than  thirteen  and  sixpence 
in  his  pocket,  and  insisted,  as  usual, 
upon  standing  glasses  all  round.  Joe 
Swigby,  left  alone  in  the  little  parlor 
behind  the  bar,  called  for  a  sheet  of 
])aper,  a  new  pen  and  a  wafer,  and 
in  the  space  of  half  an  hour  concocted 
a  veiy  spirited  and  satisfactory  an- 


swer to  this  note ;  which  was  carried 
off  by  Gann,  and  duly  delivered. 
Punctually  at  half  past  five  Mr.  Jo- 
seph Swigby  knocked  at  Margaretta 
Cottage  door,  in  his  new  coat  with 
glistering  brass  buttons,  his  face  cleaa 
shaved,  and  his  great  ears  shining 
over  his  great  shirt-collar  delightfully 
bright  and  red. 

What  happened  at  this  tea-party  it 
is  needless  here  to  say ;  but  Swigby 
came  away  from  it  quite  as  much  en- 
chanted as  before,  and  declared  that 
the  duets  sung  by  the  ladies  in  hideous 
discord  were  the  sweetest  music  he 
had  ever  heard.  He  sent  the  gin  and 
the  turkey  the  next  day;  and,  of 
course,  was  invited  to  dine. 

The  dinner  was  followed  up  on  his 

f)art  by  an  offer  to  drive  all  the  young 
adies  and  their  mamma  into  the 
country ;  and  he  hired  a  very  smart 
barouche  to- conduct  them.  The  in- 
vitation was  not  declined  ;  and  Fitch, 
too,  was  asked  by  Mr.  Swigby,  in  the 
height  of  his  good- humor,  and  ac- 
cepted with  the  utmost  delight.  "  Me 
and  Joe  will  go  on  the  box,"  said 
Gann.  "You  four  ladies  and  Mr. 
Fitch  shall  go  inside.  Carry  must 
go  bodkin ;  but  she  ain't  very  big." 

"  Carry,  indeed,  will  stop  at  home," 
said  her  mamma ;  "  she  's  not  fit  to 
go  out." 

At  which  poor  Fitch's  jaw  fell ;  it 
was  in  order  to  ride  with  her  that  he 
had  agreed  to  accompany  the  party ; 
nor  could  he  escape  now,  having  just 
promised  so  eagerly. 

"  O,  don't  let 's  have  that  proud 
Brandon,"  said  the  young  ladies, 
when  the  good-natured  Mr.  Swigby 
proposed  to  ask  that  gentleman  ;  and 
therefore  he  was  not  invited  to  join 
them  in  their  excursion  ;  but  he  stayed 
at  hqme  very  unconcernedly,  and 
saw  the  barouche  and  its  load  drive 
olF.  Somebody  else  looked  at  it  from 
the  parlor-window  with  rather  a  heavy 
heart,  and  that  some  one  was  poor 
Caroline.  The  day  was  bright  and 
sunshiny ;  the  spring  was  beginning 
early ;  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to 
have  been  a  lady  for  once,  and  to  have 


^6 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


driven  alon^  in  a  carriage  with 
prancint^  horses.  Mr.  Fitch  looked  af- 
ter her  in  a  very  sheepish,  melancholy 
way ;  and  was  so  dismal  and  silly 
during  the  first  part  of  the  journey, 
that  Miss  Linda,  who  was  next  to 
him,  said  to  her  papa  that  she  would 
change  places  with  him  ;  and  actually 
mounted  the  box  by  the  side  of  the 
happy,  trembling  Mr.  Swigby.  How 
proud  he  was,  to  be  sure !  How 
knowingly  did  he  spank  the  horses 
nlojig,  imd  fling  out  the  shillings  at 
turnpikes  ! 

"  BIl'Ss  you,  he  don't  care  for 
••hange !  "  said  Gann,  as  one  of  the 
toll  -  takers  otfered  to  render  some 
coppers ;  and  Joe  felt  infinitely  obliged 
to  his  friend  for  setting  off  his  amiable 
qualities  in  such  a  way. 

O  mighty  Fate,  that  over  us  mis- 
erable mortals  rulest  supreme,  with 
what  small  means  are  •  thy  ends  ef- 
fected !  —  with  what  scornful  ease  and 
mean  instruments  does  it  please  thee 
to  govern  mankind !  Let  each  mun 
think  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life, 
and  how  its  lot  has  been  determined. 
The  getting  up  a  little  earlier  or  later, 
the  turning  down  this  street  or  that, 
the  eating  of  this  dish  or  the  other, 
may  influence  all  the  years  and  ac- 
tions of  a  future  life.  Mankind  walks 
down  the  left-hand  side  of  Regent 
Street  instead  of  the  right,  and  meets 
a  friend  who  asks  him  to  diimer,  and 
goe-s,  and  finds  the  turtle  remarkably 
good,  and  the  iced  punch  very  cool 
and  pleasant ;  and,  being  in  a  merry, 
jovial,  idle  mood,  has  no  objection  to 
a  social  rubber  of  whist,  —  nay,  to  a 
fb'w  more  glasses  of  that  cool  punch. 
In  the  most  careless,  good-humored 
w.iy,  he  loses  a  few  points  ;  and  still 
fcL'ls  thirsty,  and  loses  a  few  more 
])oints  ;  and,  like  a  mun  of  spirit,  in- 
creases his  stakes,  to  l>e  sure,  and 
just  by  that  walk  down  Regent  Street 
is  ruined  for  life.  Or  he  walks  down 
the  right-hand  side  of  Regent  Street 
instead  of  the  left,  and,  good  Heav- 
ens !  who  is  that  charming  young 
creature  who  has  just  stepped  into 
her  caniage  from  Mr.  Frascr's  shop, 


and  to  whom  and  her  mamma  Mr. 
Fraser  has  made  the  most  elegant 
bow  in  the  world  ?  It  is  the  lovely 
Miss  Moidore,  with  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds,  who  has  remarked  your 
elegant  figure,  and  regularly  drives 
to  town  on  the  first  of  the  month,  to 
purchase  her  darling  Magazine.  Yoii. 
drive  after  her  as  fast  as  the  hack- 
cab  will  carry  you.  She  reads  the 
Magazine  the  whole  way.  She  stops 
at  her  papa's  elegant  villa  at  Hamp- 
stead,  with  a  conservatory,  a  double 
coach-house,  and  a  park-like  pad- 
dock. As  the  lodge  gate  separates 
you  from  that  dear  girl,  she  looks 
back  just  once,  and  blushes.  Erubuit, 
salca  est  res.  She  has  blushed,  and 
you  are  all  right.  In  a  week  you  are 
introduced  to  the  family,  and  pro- 
nounced a  charming  young  fellow  of 
high  principles.  In  three  weeks  yoa 
have  danced  twenty-nine  quadrilles 
with  her,  and  whisked  her  througll 
several  miles  of  waltzes.  In  a  month 
Mrs.  O'Flaherty  has  flung  herself 
into  the  arms  of  her  mother,  just 
having  come  from  a  visit  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Gretna,  near  Carlisle ;  and 
you  have  an  account  at  your  banker's 
ever  after.  What  is  the  cause  of  all 
this  good  fortune  ?  —  a  walk  on  a 
particular  side  of  Regent  Street. 
And  so  true  and  indisputable  is  this 
fact,  that  there 's  a  young  north- 
country  gentleman  with  whom  1  am 
acquainted,  that  daily  paces  up  and 
down  the  above-named  street  for 
many  hours,  fully  ex]>ecting  that 
such  an  adventure  will  happen  to 
him ;  for  which  end  he  keeps  a  cab 
in  readiness  at  the  comer  of  Vigo 
Lane. 

Now,  after  a  dis.sertation  in  this 
history,  the  reader  is  pretty  sure  to 
know  that  a  moral  is  coming ;  and 
the  facts  connected  with  our  tale, 
which  are  to  be  drawn  from  the  above 
little  essay  on  fate,  are  simply  the-e : 
I.  If  Mr.  Fitch  had  not  heard  Mr. 
Swigby  invite  ((//  the  ladies,  he  would 
have  refused  Swigby's  invitation,  and 
stayed  at  home.  tJ.  If  he  had  not 
been  in  the  carriage,  it  is  quite  cer- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


37 


turn  that  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty 
would  not  have  been  seated  by  him 
on  the  back  seat.  3.  It'  he  hail  not 
been  sulky,  she  never  would  have 
asked  her  papa  to  let  her  take  his 
place  on  the  box.  4.  If  she  had  not 
taken  her  papa's  place  on  the  box, 
not  one  of  the  circumstances  would 
have  happened  which  did  happen ; 
and  which  were  as  follows  :  — 

1.  Miss  Bella  remained  inside. 

2.  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  wavering 
between  the  two,  like  a  certain  ani- 
mal between  two  bundles  of  hay,  was 
determined  by  this  circumstance,  and 
made  proposals  to  Miss  Linda,  whis- 
pering to  Miss  Linda :  "  Miss,  I  ain't 
equal  to  the  like  of  you ;  but  I  'm 
hearty,  healthy,  and  have  five  hun- 
dred a  year.  Will  you  marry  me  ?  " 
In  fact,  this  very  speech  had  been 
taught  him  by  cunning  Gann,  who 
saw  well  enough  that  Swigby  would 
speak  to  one  or  other  of  his  daugh- 
ters. And  to  it  the  young  lady  re- 
plied, also  in  a  whispering,  agitated 
tone,  "Law,  Mr.  S. !  What  an  odd 
man  !  How  can  you  ?  "  And,  after 
a  little  pause,  added,  "  Speak  to  mam- 
ma." 

3.  (And  this  is  the  main  point  of 
my  story. )  If  little  Caroline  had  been 
allowed  to  go  out,  she  never  would 
have  been  left  alone  with  Brandon  at 
Margate.  When  Fate  wills  that 
something  should  come  to  pass,  she 
sends  forth  a  million  of  little  circum- 
stances to  clear  and  prepare  the  way. 

In  the  month  of  April  (as  indeed 
in  half  a  score  of  other  months  of  the 
year)  the  reader  may  have  remarked 
that  the  cold  northeast  wind  is  prev- 
alent ;  and  that  when,  tempted  by  a 
glimpse  of  sunshine,  he  issues  forth 
to  take  the  air,  he  receives  not  only 
it,  but  such  a  quantity  of  it  as  is 
enough  to  keep  him  shivering  through 
the  rest  of  the  miserable  month.  ( )n 
one  of  these  happy  days  of  English 
weather  (it  was  the  very  day  before 
the  pleasure-party  described  in  the 
last  chapter)  Mr.  Brandon  cursing 
heartily  his  country,  and  thinking 
how  infinitely  more  congenial  to  him 


were  the  winds  and  habits  prevalent 
in  other  nations,  was  marching  over 
the  cliffs  near  Margate,  in  the  midst 
of  a  storm  of  shrill  east  wind  which 
no  ordinary  mortal  could  bear,  when 
he  found  perched  on  the  cliff,  his 
fingers  blue  with  cold,  the  celebrated 
Andrea  Fitch,  employed  in  sketching 
a  land  or  a  sea  scape  on  a  sheet  of 
gray  paper. 

"  You  have  chosen  a  fine  day  for 
sketching,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  bitter- 
ly, his  thin  aquiline  nose  peering  out 
livid  from  the  fur  collar  of  his  coat. 

Mr.  Fitch  smiled,  understanding 
the  allusion. 

"  An  hartist,  sir,"  said  he,  "  does  n't 
mind  the  coldness  of  the  weather. 
There  was  a  chap  in  the  Academy 
who  took  sketches  twenty  degrees 
below  zero  in  Hiceland, — Mount 
'Ecla,  sir !  E  was  the  man  that 
gave  the  first  hidea  of  Mount  'Ecla 
for  the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  wonderful 
enthusiast !  "  said  Mr.  Brandon  ;  "  I 
fancy  that  most  would  prefer  to  sit  at 
home,  and  not  numb  their  fingers  in 
such  a  freezing  storm  as  this  ! " 

"  Storm,  sir  !  "  replied  Fitch,  ma- 
jestically ;  "  I  live  in  a  storm,  sir ! 
A  true  hartist  is  never  so  'appy  as 
when  he  can  have  the  advantage  to 
gaze  upon  yonder  tempestuous  hocean 
in  one  of  its  hangiy  moods.' 

"  Ay,  there  comes  the  steamer," 
answered  Mr.  Brandon ;  "  I  can 
fancy  that  there  are  a  score  of  unhap- 
py people  on  board  who  are  not 
artists,  and  would  wish  to  behold 
your  ocean  quiet." 

"  They  are  not  poets,  sir :  the  glori- 
ous hever-changing  expression  of  the 
great  countenance  of  Nature  is  not 
seen  by  them.  I  .should  consider 
myself  unworthy  of  my  hart,  if  I 
could  not  bear  a  little  privation  of 
cold  or  'eat  for  its  sake.  And  besides, 
sir,  whatever  their  hardships  may  be, 
such  a  sight  hamply  repays  me ;  for, 
although  my  priviue  sorrows  may  be 
(has  they  are)  tirrnendons,  1  never  can 
look  abroad  upon  the  green  hearth 
and  hawful  sea,  without  in  a  meas- 


38 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


ure  forgetting  my  personal  woes  and 
wrongs ;  for  what  right  has  a  poor 
creature  like  me  to  think  of  his  affairs 
in  the  presence  of  such  a  spectacle  as 
this  f  I  can't,  sir ;  I  feel  ashamed  of 
myself;  I  bow  my  'ead  and  am  quiet. 
When  I  set  myself  to  examining 
hart,  sir  (by  which  I  mean  nature), 
I  don't  dare  to  think  of  anything 
else." 

"  You  worship  a  very  charming 
and  consoling  mistress,"  answered 
Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  supercilious  air, 
lighting  and  beginning  to  smoke  a 
cigar ;  "  your  enthusiasm  does  you 
credit." 

"  If  you  have  another,"  said  Andrea 
Fitch,  "  I  should  like  to  smoke  one, 
for  you  seem  to  have  a  real  feeling 
about  hart,  and  I  was  a  getting  so 
deucedly  cold  here,  that  really  there 
was  scarcely  any  bearing  of  it." 

"  The  cold  is  very  severe,"  replied 
Mr.  Brandon. 

"  No,  no,  it 's  not  the  weather, 
sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Fitch ;  "  it 's  here, 
sir,  here  "  (pointing  to  the  left  side 
of  his  waistcoat. ) 

"  What !  you,  too,  have  had  sor- 
rows ?  " 

"  Sorrows,  sir  !  hagonies,  —  hago- 
nies,  which  I  have  never  unfolded  to 
any  mortal !  I  have  hendnred  hal- 
most  heverything.  Poverty,  sir, 
'unger,  hobloquy,  'opeless  love !  but 
for  my  hart,  sir,  I  sliould  be  the  most 
miserable  wretch  in  the  world  !  " 

And  herewith  Mr.  Fitch  began  to 
pour  forth  into  Mr.  Bnindon's  ears 
the  history  of  some  of  those  sorrows 
under  which  he  lal)ored,  and  which 
he  communicated  to  every  single  per- 
Bon  who  would  listen  to  him. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  greatly  amused 
by  Fitch's  prattle,  and  the  latter  told 
him  under  what  privations  he  had 
studied  his  art :  how  he  Imd  starved 
for  three  years  in  Paris  and  Rome, 
tvhile  laboring  at  his  profession  :  how 
meanly  jealous  the  Royal  Academy 
H'as  which  would  never  exiiibit  a 
single  one  of  his  pictures  ;  how  he 
nad  been  driven  from  tlie  Heternal 
City  by  the  attentions  of  an  immense 


fat  Mrs.  Carrickfergus,  who  absolute- 
ly proposed  marriage  to  him ;  and 
how  he  was  at  this  moment  (a  fact  of 
which  Mr.  Brandon  was  already  quite 
aware)  madly  and  desperately  in  love 
with  one  of  the  most  beautiful  maid- 
ens in  this  world.  For  Fitch,  having 
a  mistress  to  his  heart's  desire,  was 
boiling  with  impatience  to  have  a 
confidant;  what,  indeed,  would  be 
the  joy  of  love,  if  one  were  not 
allowed  to  speak  of  one's  feelings  to  a 
friend  who  could  know  how  to  sym- 
pathize with  them  ?  Fitch  was  sure 
Brandon  did,  because  Brandon  was 
the  very  first  person  with  whom  the 
painter  had  talked  since  he  had  come 
to  the  resolution  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter. 

"  I  hope  she  is  as  rich  as  that  un- 
lucky Mrs.  Carrickfergus,  whom  you 
treated  so  cruelly  1 "  said  the  confi- 
dant, affecting  entire  ignorance. 

"  Rich,  sir  ?  no,  I  thank  Heaven, 
she  has  not  a  penny  !  "  said  Fitch. 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  are  yourself 
independent,"  said  Brandon,  smiling ; 
"  for  in  the  marriage  state,  one  or  the 
other  of  the  parties  concerned  should 
bring  a  portion  of  the  filthy  lucre  1  " 

"  Have  n't  I  my  profession,  sir  ?  " 
said  Fitch,  majestically,  having  de- 
clared five  minutes  before  that  he 
starved  in  his  profession.  "  Do  you 
suppose  a  painter  gets  nothing  ? 
Have  n't  I  borders  from  the  first  peo- 
ple in  Europe  1  —  commissions,  sir, 
to  hexecute  'istory  -  pieces,  battle- 
pieces,  haltar-pieces  ?  " 

"Masterpieces,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Brandon,  bowing  politely;  "for  a 
gentleman  of  your  astonishing  genius 
can  do  no  other." 

The  delighted  artist  received  this 
compliment  with  many  blushes,  and 
vowed  and  protested  that  his  perform- 
ances were  not  really  worthy  of  such 
high  praise  ;  but  he  fancied  Mr.  Bran- 
don a  great  connoisseur,  nevertheless, 
and  unburdenetl  his  mind  to  him  in  a 
manner  still  more  open.  Fitch's 
sketch  was  by  this  time  finished  ;  and 
putting  his  drawing-implements  to- 
gether, he  rose,  and  the  gentlemen 


A  SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY. 


39 


walked  away.  The  sketch  was  hugely 
admired  by  Mr.  Brandon,  and  vvlien 
they  came  home,  Eitch,  culling  it  dex- 
terously out  of  his  book,  presented  it 
in  a  neat  speech  to  his  friend,  "  the 
gifted  hamateur." 

"  The  gifted  hamateur  "  received  the 
drawing  with  a  profusion  of  thanks, 
and  so  much  did  he  value  it,  that  he 
had  actually  torn  off  a  piece  to  light 
a  cigar  with,  when  he  saw  that  words 
were  written  on  the  other  side  of  the 
paper,  and  deciphered  the  follow- 
ing :  — 

« SONG  OF  THE  VIOLET. 

"  A  humble  flower  long  time  I  pined, 

UpoQ  the  solitary  plaiQ. 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And,  oh  !  't  was  in  a  blessed  hour, 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  gee 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower, 

To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

"  I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude. 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude. 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas  !  our  days  are  brief  at  best. 

Nor  long  I  fear  will  mine  endure. 
Though  sheltered  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure, 

"  It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 
It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath  ; 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves, 
It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  (  ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 
And  then,  contented,  die. 

"  Andrea." 

When  Mr.  Brandon  had  finished 
the  perusal  of  these  verses,  he  laid 
them  down  with  an  air  of  considera- 
ble vexation.  "  Egad  !  "  said  he, 
"  this  fellow,  fool  as  he  is,  is  not  so 
great  a  fool  as  he  seems ;  and  if  he 
goes  on  tliis  way,  may  finish  by  turn- 
ing tlie  girl's  head.  They  can't  re- 
sist a  man  if  he  but  presses  hard 
enough,  —  I  know  they  can't ! " 
And  here  Mr.  Brandon  mused  over 
his  various  experience,  which  con- 
firmed his  observation,  that  be  a  man 
ever  so  silly,  a  gentlewoman  will 
yield  to  him  out  of  sheer  weariness. 
And  he  thought  of  several  cases  in 


which,  by  the  persevering  application 
of  copies  of  verses,  young  ladies  had 
been  brought  from  dislike  to  suffer- 
ance of  a  man,  from  sufferance  to 
])artiality,  and  from  partiality  to  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square.  "A  ruf- 
fian who  murders  his  h's  to  carry  off 
such  a  delicate  little  creature  as 
that !  "  cried  he,  in  a  transport :  "  it 
shall  never  be  if  I  can  prevent  it ! " 
He  thought  Caroline  more  and  more 
beautiful  every  instant,  and  was  him- 
self b}^  this  time  ahnost  as  much  in 
love  with  her  as  Fitch  himself 

Mr.  Brandon,  then,  saw  Fitch  de- 
part in  Swigby's  carriage  with  no  or- 
dinary feelings  of  pleasure.  Miss 
Caroline  was  not  with  them.  "  Now 
is  my  time  !  "  thought  Brandon ;  and 
ringing  tlie  bell,  he  inquired  with 
some  anxiety,  from  Becky,  where 
Miss  Caroline  was  ?  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  mistress  and  maid  were  at 
their  usual  occupation,  working  and 
reading  novels  in  the  back  parlor. 
Poor  Carry  !  what  other  pleasure  had 
she? 

She  had  not  gone  through  many 
pages,  or  Becky  advanced  many 
stitches  in  the  darning  of  that  table- 
cloth which  tlie  good  housewife,  Mrs. 
Gann,  had  confided  to  her  charge, 
when  an  humble  knock  was  heard 
at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  that 
caused  the  blushing  Caroline  to  trem- 
ble and  drop  her  book,  as  Miss  Lydia 
Languish  does  in  tlie  play. 

Mr.  George  Brandon  entered  with 
a  very  demure  air.  He  held  in  his 
hand  a  black  satin  neck-scarf,  of  which 
a  part  had  come  to  be  broken.  He 
could  not  wear  it  in  its  present  con- 
dition, that  was  evident ;  but  Miss 
Caroline  was  blushing  and  trembling 
a  great  deal  too  much  to  suspect  that 
this  wicked  Brandon  had  himself  torn 
his  own  scarf  with  his  own  hands  one 
moment  before  he  entered  the  room. 
I  don't  know  wheiher  Becky  had  any 
suspicions  of  this  fact,  or  whether  it 
was  only  the  ordinary  roguish  look 
which  she  had  when  anything  pleased 
her,  that  now  lighted  up  her  eyes  and 
caused  her   mouth  to  expand   smil- 


40 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


ingly,  and  her  fat  red  cheeks  to  gather 
up  into  wrinkles. 

"  I  have  had  a  sad  misfortune,"  said 
he,  "  and  should  be  very  much  obliged 
indeed  to  Miss  Caroline  to  repair  it." 
(Caroline  was  said  with  a  kind  of 
tender  hesitation  that  caused  the 
young  woman,  so  named,  to  blush 
more  than  ever. )  "  It  is  the  only  stock 
T  have  in  the  world,  and  I  can't  go 
barenecked  into  the  street ;  can  I,  Mrs. 
Becky  ? " 
.    "  No,  sure,"  said  Becky. 

"  Not  unless  I  was  a  celebrated 
painter,  like  Mr.  Fitch,"  added  Mr. 
Brandon,  with  a  smile,  which  was 
reflet-tcd  speedily  upon  the  face  of  the 
ladv  whom  he  wished  to  interest. 
"  iMiose  great  geniuses,  "  he  added, 
"  may  do  anything." 

"  For,  "  says  Bexiky,  "  hee  's  got 
enough  beard  on  hees  faze  to  keep 
hees  neck  warm ! "  At  which  remark, 
though  Miss  Caroline  very  properly 
said, "  For  shame,  Becky  ! "  Mr.  Bran- 
don was  so  convulsed  with  laughter, 
that  he  fairly  fell  down  upon  the  sofa 
on  which  Miss  Caroline  was  seated. 
How  she  startled  and  trembled,  as  he 
fluntf  his  arm  upon  the  back  of  the 
couch  !  Mr.  Brandon  did  not  attempt 
to  apologize  for  what  was  an  act  of 
considerable  impertinence,  but  con- 
tinued mercilessly  to  make  many  more 
jokes  concerning  poor  Fitih,  which 
were  so  cleverly  suited  to  the  compre- 
hension of  the  maid  and  the  young 
mistress,  as  to  elicit  a  great  number  of 
roars  of  laughter  from  the  one,  and  to 
cause  the  other  to  smile  in  spite  of 
herself.  Indeed,  Brandon  had  gained 
a  vast  reputation  with  Becky  in  his 
morning  colloquies  with  her,  and  she 
was  ready  to  laugh  at  any  single  word 
which  it  pleased  him  to  utter.  How 
many  of  his  good  things  had  this 
honest  scullion  carried  down  stairs  to 
Caroline?  and  how  pitilessly  had  she 
contrived  to  estropier  them  in*  their 
passage  from  the  drawing-rpom  to  the 
kitchen  1 

Well,  then,  while  Mr.  Brandon 
"  was  a  going  on  "  as  Becky  said,  Car- 
oline had  taken  his  stock,  and  her 


little   fingers  were   occupied  in    re- 
pairing the  damage  he  had  done  to  it. 
Was    it    clumsiness   on    her    part? 
Certain  it  is  that  the  rent  took  several 
minutes  to  repair  :  of  them  the  inan- 
geur  de  cceurs  did  not  fail  to  profit, 
conversing  in  an  easy,  kindly,  confi- 
dential way,  which  set  our  fluttering 
heroine  speedily  at  rest,  and  enabled 
her  to  reply  to  his  continual  queries, 
addressed  with  much  adroitness  and 
an   air    of    fraternal   interest,   by   a 
number  of  those   pretty  littke  timid 
whispering  yeses  and  noes,  and  those 
gentle,  quick  looks  of  the  eyes,  where- 
with young  and  modest  maidens  are 
wont  to  reply  to  the  questions  of  se- 
ducing young  bachelors.     Dear  yeses 
and  noes,  how  beautiful  you  are  when 
gently  whispered  by    pretty  lips !  — 
glances  of  quick  innocent  eyes,  how 
charming  are  you  !  —  and  how  charm- 
ing the  soft  blush  that  steals  over  the 
cheek  towards  which  the  dark  lashes 
I  are   drawing  the  blue-veined   eyelids 
I  down.     And  here  let  the  writer  of  this 
I  solemnly  declare,  upon  his  veracity, 
]  that   he  means  notliing  but  what  is 
I  right  and  moral.  But  look,  I  pray  you, 
'  at  an  innocent,  bashful  girl  of  sixteen  : 
]  if  she  be  but  good,  she  must  be  pretty. 
I  She  is  a  woman  now,  but  a  girl  still. 
How  delightful  all  her  ways  are !  How 
I  exquisite  her  instinctive  grace  !    All 
the  arts  of  all  the  Cleopatras  are  not 
so  captivating  as  her  nature.  Who  can 
resist  her  confiding  simplicity,  or  fail 
to  be  touched  and  conquered  by  her 
gentle  appeal  to  protection  ? 

AlTthis  Mr.  Brandon  saw  and  felt, 
as  many  a  gentleman  educated  in  this 
school  will.  It  is  not  because  a  man 
is  a  rascal  himself,  that  he  cannot  ap- 
preciate virtue  and  purity  very  keenly ; 
and  our  hero  did  feel  for  this  simple, 
tender,  artless  creature,  a  real  respect 
and  sympathy, —  a  sympathy  so  fresh 
and  delicious,  that  he  was  but  too  glad 
,  to  yield  to  it  and  indulge  in  it,  and 
which  he  mistook,  probably,  for  a  real 
love  of  virtue,  and  a  return  to  the 
days  of  his  innocence. 

indeed,  Mr.  Brandon,   it  was  t.o 
I  such  thing.     It  was  only  because  vico 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


41 


and  dcbatich  were  stale  for  the  mo- 
ment, and  this  pretty  virtue  new.  It 
was  only  because  your  cloyed  appetite 
Was  long  unused  to  this  simple  meat 
that  you  felt  so  keen  a  relish  for  it ; 
and  I  thought  of  you  only  the  last 
blessed  Saturday,  at  Mr.  Lovegrove's, 
"  West  India  Tavern,"  Blackwall, 
where  a  company  of  fifteen  epicures, 
who  had  scorned  the  turtle,  pooh- 
poohed  the  puntfh,  and  sent  away  the 
whitebait,  did  suddenly  and  simulta- 
neously make  a  rush  upon  —  a  dish  of 
beans  and  bacon.  And  if  the  assiduous 
reader  of  novels  will  think  upon  some 
of  the  most  celebrated  works  of  that 
species,  which  have  lately  appeared  in 
this  and  other  countries,  he  will  find, 
amidst  much  debauch  of  sentiment 
and  enervating  dissipation  of  intellect, 
that  the  writers  have  fi*om  time  to 
time  a  returning  appetite  for  innocence 
and  freshness,  and  indulge  us  with 
occasional  repasts  of  beans  and  bacon. 
How  long  Mr.  Brandon  remained  by 
Miss  Carpline's  side  I  have  no  means 
of  judging ;  it  is  probable,  however, 
that  he  stayed  a  much  long«r  time 
than  was  necessary  for  the  mending 
of  his  black  satin  stock.  I  believe, 
indeed,  that  he  read  to  the  ladies  a 
great  part  of  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udol- 
pho,"  over  which  they  were  engaged ; 
and  interspersed  his  reading  with 
many  remarks  of  his  own,  both  tender 
and  satirical.  Whether  he  was  in  her 
company  half  an  hour  or  four  hours, 
tliis  is  certain,  that  the  time  slipped 
away  very  swiftly  with  poor  Caroline ; 
sind  when  a  carriage  drove  up  Sro  the 
door,  and  shrill  voices  were  heard  cry- 
ing "  Becky  !  "  "  Carry !  "  and  Rebec- 
ca the  maid,  starting  up,  cried,  "  Lor', 
here 's  missus  ! "  and  Brandon  jumped 
rather  suddenly  ofi"  the  sofa,  and  fled 
up  the  stairs,  — when  all  these  events 
took  place,  I  know  Caroline  felt  very 
sad,  indeed,  and  opened  the  door  for 
her  ])arents  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 
Swigby  helped  Miss  Linda  off  the 
box  with  excessive  tenderness.  Papa 
was  bustling  and  roaring  in  high 
good-humor,  and  called  for  "  hot 
water  and    tumblers    immediately." 


Mrs.  Gann  was  gracious ;  and  Miss 
Bell  sulky,  as  she  had  good  reason  to 
be,  for  she  insisted  upon  taking  the 
front  seat  in  the  carriage  before  her 
sister,  and  had  lost  a  husband  by  that 
very  piece  of  obstinacy. 

Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  entered,  bestowed 
upon  Caroline  a  heavy  sigh  and  deep 
stare,  and  silently  ascended  to  his 
own  apartment.  He  was  lost  in 
thought.  The  fact  is,  he  was  trying 
to  remember  some  verses  regarding  a 
violet,  which  he  had  made  five  years 
before,  and  which  he  had  somehow 
lost  from  among  his  papers.  So  he 
went  up  stairs,  muttering, 

"  A  humble  flower  long  since  I  pined 
Upon  a  solitary  plain  —  " 


CHAPTER  VL 

DESCRIBES  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  MAR- 
RIAGE, AND  MORE  LOVE-MAKING. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  describe 
the  particulars  of  the  festivities  which 
took  place  on  the  occasion  of  Mr. 
Swigby's  marriage  to  Miss  Macarty. 
The  hapjiy  pair  went  off  in  a  post- 
chaise  and  four  to  the  bridegroom's 
country-seat,  accompanied  by  the 
bride's  blushing  sister ;  and  when  the 
first  week  of  their  matrimonial  bliss 
was  ended,  that  worthy  woman,  Mrs. 
Gann,  with  her  excellent  husband, 
went  to  visit  the  young  couple.  Miss 
Caroline  was  left,  therefore,  sole  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  and  received  especial 
cautions  from  her  mamma  as  to  pru- 
dence, economy,  the  proper  manage- 
ment of  the  lodgers'  bills,  and  the 
necessity  of  staying  at  home. 

Considering  that  one  of  the  gentle- 
men remaining  in  the  house  was  a 
declared  lover  of  Miss  Caroline,  I 
think  it  is  a  little  surprising  that  her 
mother  should  leave  her  unprotected ; 
but  in  this  matter  the  poor  arc  not  so 
particular  as  the  rich  ;  and  so  this 
young  lady  was  consigned  to  the 
guardianship  of  her  own  innocence, 
and  the  lodgers'  loyalt}' :  nor  was 
there   aay  reason    why  Mrs.  Gauq 


42 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


should  doubt  the  latter.  As  for  Mr. 
Fitch,  he  would  have  far  preferred  to 
be  tora  to  pieces  by  ten  thousand  wild 
horses,  rather  than  to  offer  to  the 
young  woman  any  un  kindness  or 
insult ;  and  how  was  Mrs.  Gann  to 
suppose  that  her  other  lodger  was  a 
whit  less  loyal  ?  that  he  had  any 
partiality  for  a  person  of  whom  he  al- 
ways spoke  as  a  mean,  insignificant 
little  baby  ?  So,  without  any  mis- 
givings, and  in  a  one-horse  fly  with 
Mr.  Gann  by  her  side,  with  a  bran 
new  green  coat  and  gilt  buttons, 
Juliana  Gann  went  forth  to  visit  her 
beloved  child,  and  console  her  in  her 
married  state. 

And  here,  were  I  allowed  to  occupy 
the  reader  with  extraneous  matters,  I 
could  give  a  very  curious  and  touch- 
ing picture  of  the  Swigby  me'iiaje. 
Mrs.  S.,  I  am  very  sorry  to  say, 
quarrelled  with  her  husband  on  the 
third  day  after  their  marriage,  —  and 
for  what,  pr'thee  ?  Why,  because  he 
would  smoke,  and  no  gentleman  ought 
to  smoke.  Swigby,  therefore,  patient- 
ly resigned  his  pipe,  and  with  it  one 
of  the  quietest,  happiest,  kindest  com- 
pmions  of  his  solitude.  He  was  a 
different  man  after  this ;  his  pipe  was 
as  a  limb  of  his  body.  Having  on  Tues- 
day conquered  the  pipe,  Mrs.  Swigby 
on  Thursday  did  battle  with  her  hus- 
band's rum-and-water,  a  drink  of  an 
odious  smell,  as  she  very  properly 
observed  ;  and  the  smell  was  doubly 
odious,  now  that  the  tobacco-smoke  no 
longer  perfumed  the  parlor  breeze,  and 
counteracted  the  odors  of  the  juice  of 
West  India  sugai -canes.  On  Thurs- 
day, then,  Mr.  Swigby  and  rum  held 
out  pretty  bravely.  Mrs.  S.  attacked 
the  punch  with  some  sharp-shooting, 
and  fierce  charges  of  vulgarity ;  to 
which  S.  replied,  by  opening  the 
battery  of  oaths  (chiefly  directed  to 
his  own  eyes,  however),  and  loud  pro- 
testations that  he  would  never  surren- 
der. In  throe  days  more,  however, 
the  rum-and-water  was  gone.  Mr. 
Swigby,  defeated  and  prostrate,  had 
given  up  that  stronghold ;  his  young 
wife  and  sister  were  triumphant ;  and 


his  poor  mother,  who  occupied  her 
son's  house,  and  had  till  now  taken 
her  place  at  the  head  of  his  table,  saw 
that  her  empire  was  forever  lost,  and 
was  preparing  suddenly  to  succumb 
to  the  imperious  claims  of  the  mistress 
of  the  mansion. 

All  this,  I  say,  I  wish  I  had  the  liber- 
ty to  describe  at  large,  as  also  to  narrate 
the  arrival  of  majestic  Mrs.  Gann ; 
and  a  battle-royal  which  speedily  took 
place  between  the  two  worthy  moth- 
ers-in-law. Noble  is  the  hatred  of 
ladies  who  stand  in  this  relation  to 
each  other ;  each  sees  what  injury 
the  other  is  inflicting  upon  her  darling 
child;  each  mistrusts,  detests,  and  to 
her  offspring  privily  abuses  the  arts 
and  crimes  of  the  other.  A  house 
with  a  wife  is  often  warm  enough ; 
a  house  with  a  wife  and  her  mother 
is  rather  warmer  than  any  spot 
on  the  known  globe;  a  house  with 
two  mothers-in-law  is  so  excessively 
hot,  that  it  can  be  likened  to  no  place 
on  earth  at  all,  but  one  must  go  lower 
for  a  simile.  Think  of  a  wife  who 
despises  her  husband,  and  teaches 
him  manners  ;  of  an  elegant  sister, 
who  joins  in  rallying  him  (this  was 
almost  the  only  point  of  union  be- 
tween Bella  and  Linda  now,  —  for 
since  the  marriage,  Linda  hated  her 
sister  consuraedly).  Think,  I  say,  of 
two  mothers  -  in  -  law,  —  one,  large, 
pompous,  and  atrociously  genteel,  — 
another  coarse  and  shrill,  determined 
not  to  have  her  son  put  upon,  —  and 
you  may  see  what  a  happy  fellow  Joe 
Swigby  was,  and  into  what  a  piece 
of  good  luck  he  had  fallen. 

What  would  have  become  of  him 
without  his  father-in-law?  Indeed 
one  shudders  to  think ;  but  the  conse- 
quence of  that  gentleman's  arrival 
and  intervention  was  speedily  this  :  — 
About  four  o'clock,  when  the  dinner 
was  removed,  and  the  quarrelling 
used  commonly  to  set  in,  the  two 
gents  took  their  hats,  and  salHed  out ; 
and  as  one  has  found  when  the  body 
is  inflamed  that  the  application  of  a 
stringent  medicine  may  cause  the  ill 
to  disappear  for  a  while,  only  to   re> 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


43 


turn  elsewhere  with  greater  force  ;  in  ] 
like  manner,  Mrs.  Swigby's  sudden 
victory  over  the  pipe  and  rum-and-  i 
water,  although  it  had  caused  a  tem- 
porary cessation  of  the  evil  of  which 
she  complained,  was  quite  unable  to 
stop  it  altogether ;  it  disappeared 
from  one  spot  only  to  rage  with  more 
violence  elsewhere.  In  ISwigby's  par- 
lor, rum  and  tobacco  odors  rose  no 
more  (except,  indeed,  when  Mrs. 
Gann  would  partake  of  the  former  as 
a  restorative);  but  if  you  could  have 
seen  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers" 
down  the  village  ;  if  you  could  have 
seen  the  good  dry  skittle-ground  which 
stretched  at  the  back  of  that  inn,  and 
the  window  of  the  back-parlor  which 
superintended  tliat  skittle-ground;  if 
tlie  hour  at  which  you  beheld  these 
objects  was  evening,  what  time  the 
rustics  from  their  toils  released  trolled 
the  stout  ball  amidst  the  rattling  pins 
(the  oaken  pins  that  standing  in  the 
sun  did  cast  long  shadows  on  the 
golden  sward) ;  if  you  had  remarked 
all  this,  I  say,  you  would  have  also 
seen  in  the  back  parlor  a  tallow  can- 
dle twinkling  in  the  shade,  and  stand- 
ing on  a  little  greasy  table.  Upon 
the  greasy  table  was  a  pewter  porter- 
pot,  and  to  the  left  a  teaspoon  glitter- 
ing in  a  glass  of  gin  ;  close  to  each  of 
these  two  delicacies  was  a  pipe  of 
tobacco;  and  behind  the  pipes  sat 
Mr.  Gann  and  Mr.  Swigby,  who  now 
made  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers  " 
their  usual  place  of  resort,  and  forgot 
their  married  cares. 

In  spite  of  all  our  promises  of  brevity, 
these  things  have  taken  some  space  to 
describe ;  and  the  reader  must  also 
know  that  some  short  intenal elapsed 
ere  they  occurred.  A  month  at  least 
passed  away  before  Mr.  Swigby  had 
decidedly  taken  up  his  position  at  the 
little  inn  :  all  this  time,  Gann  was 
staying  with  his  son-in-law,  at  the 
latter 's  most  earnest  request ;  and 
Mrs.  Gann  remained  under  the  same 
roof  at  her  own  desire.  Not  the  hints 
of  her  daughter,  nor  the  broad  ques- 
tions of  the  dowager  Mrs.  Swigby, 
could  induce  honest  Mrs.   Gann   to 


stir  from  her  quarters.  She  had  had 
her  lodgers'  money  in  advance,  as 
was  the  worthy  woman's  custom ; 
she  knew  Margate  in  April  was 
dreadfully  dull,  and  she  determined  to 
enjoy  tlie  country  until  the  jovial 
town  season  arrived.  The  Canter- 
bury coachman,  whom  Gann  knew, 
and  who  passed  through  the  village, 
used  to  take  her  cargo  of  novels  to 
and  fro  ;  and  the  old  lady  made  her- 
self as  happy  as  circumstances  would 
allow.  Should  anything  of  im- 
portance occur  during  her  mamma's 
absence,  Caroline  was  to  make  use  of 
the  same  conveyance,  and  inform 
Mrs.  Gann  in  a  letter. 

Miss  Caroline  looked  at  her  papa 
and  mamma,  as  the  vehicle  which 
was  to  bear  tliem  to  the  newly  mar- 
ried couple  moved  up  the  street ;  but, 
strange  to  say,  she  did  not  feel  that 
heaviness  of  heart  which  she  before 
had  experienced  when  forbidden  to 
share  the  festivities  of  her  family,  but 
was  on  this  occasion  more  happy  than 
any  one  of  them,  —  so  happy,  that 
the  young  woman  felt  quite  ashamed 
of  herself;  and  Becky  was  fain  to  re- 
mark how  her  mistress's  cheek 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  (and 
turned  perpetually  to  the  door),  and 
her  whole  little  frame  was  in  a  flutter. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  will  come,"  said 
the  little  heart ;  and  the  eyes  turned 
and  looked  at  that  well-known  sofa- 
comer,  where  he  had  been  placed  a 
fortnight  before.  He  looked  exactly 
like  Lord  Byron,  that  he  did,  with 
his  pale  brow,  and  his  slim  bare  neck ; 
only  not  half  so  wicked  —  no,  no. 
She   was   sure   that  her  —  her    Mr. 

B ,    her    Bran ,   her    George, 

was  as  good  as  he  was  beautiful. 
Don't  let  us  be  angry  with  her  for 
calling  him  George  ;  the  girl  was  bred 
in  an  humble  sentimental  school ;  she 
did  not  know  enough  of  society  to  be 
squeamish ;  she  never  thought  that 
she  could  be  his  really,  and  gave  way 
in  the  silence  of  her  fancy  to  the  full 
extent  of  her  affection  for  him. 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  door  above 
twenty-five  times, —  that  is  to  say,  her 


44 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


parents  had  not  quitted  the  house  ten 
minutes, — when,  sure  enoujj;h,  the 
latch  did  rattle,  the  door  opened,  and, 
with  a  faint  blush  on  his  cheek,  divine 
George  entered  He  was  going  to  make 
some  excuse,  as  on  the  former  occasion ; 
but  he  looked  first  into  Caroline's  face, 
which  was  beaming  with  joy  and 
smiles  ;  and  the  little  thing,  in  return, 
regarded  him,  and  —  made  room  for 
him  on  the  sofa.  O  sweet  instinct  of 
love !  Brandon  had  no  need  of  excuses, 
but  sat  down,  and  talked  away  as  easi- 
ly, happily,  and  confidentially,  and  nei- 
ther took  any  note  of  time.  Andrea 
Fitch  (the  sly  dog!)  witnessed  the 
Gann  departure  with  feelings  of  ex- 
ultation, and  had  laid  some  deep 
plans  of  his  own  with  regard  to  Miss 
Caroline.  So  strong  was  his  confi- 
dence in  his  friend  on  the  first  floor, 
that  Andrea  actually  descended  to 
those  apartments,  on  his  way  to  Mrs. 
Gann's  parlor,  in  order  to  consult 
Mr.  Brandon,  and  make  kno\vn  to 
him  his  plan  of  operations. 

It  would  have  made  your  heart 
break,  or,  at  the  very  least,  your  sides 
ache,  to   behold  the  countenance  of 

Eoor  Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  thrust  his 
earded  head  in  at  the  door  of  the 
parlor.  There  was  Brandon  lolling 
on  the  sofa,  at  his  ease ;  Becky  in 
full  good-humor;  and  Caroline,  al- 
ways absurdly  inclined  to  blush, 
blushing  at  Fitch's  appearance  more 
than  ever !  She  could  not  help  look- 
ing from  him  slyly  and  gently  into 
the  face  of  Mr.  Brandon.  That  gen- 
tleman saw  the  look,  and  did  not 
fail  to  interpret  it.  It  was  a  confes- 
sion of  love, —  an  appeal  for  protec- 
tion. A  thrill  of  delightful  vanity 
'shot  through  Brandon's  frame,  and 
made  his  heart  throb,  as  he  noticed 
this  look  of  poor  Caroline.  He  an- 
swered it  with  one  of  his  own  that 
was  cruelly  wrong,  cruelly  trium- 
phant, and  sarcastic  ;  and  he  shouted 
out  to  Mr.  Fitch,  with  a  loud,  discon- 
certed tone,  which  only  made  that 
young  painter  feel  more  awkward 
than  ever  he  had  Ijeen.  Fitch  made 
some  clumsy  speech  regarding  his  din- 


ner,— whether  that  meal  vras  to  be  held, 
in  the  absence  of  the  parents,  at  the 
usual  hour,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

The  poor  fellow  had  been  pleasing 
himself  with  the  notion  of  taking  this 
daily  meal  tete-a-tete  with  Caroline. 
What  progress  would  he  make  in  her 
heart  during  the  absence  of  her  par- 
ents !  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  the  first 
marriage  had  been  arranged  on  pur- 
pose to  facilitate  his  own  1  He  de- 
termined thus  his  plan  of  campaign. 
He  would  make,  in  the  first  place,  the 
most  beautiful  drawing  of  Caroline 
that  ever  was  seen.  "  The  conversa- 
tions I  '11  'ave  with  her  during  the 
sittings,"  says  he,  "  will  carry  me  a 
pretty  long  way  ;  the  drawing  itself 
will  be  so  beautiful,  that  she  can't 
resist  that.  I  Ml  write  her  verses  in 
her  halbum,  and  make  designs  hallu- 
sive  of  my  passion  for  her."  And  sa 
our  pictorial  Alnasehar  dreamed  and 
dreamed.  He  had,  erelong,  estab- 
lished himself  in  a  house  in  Newman 
Street,  with  a  footman  to  open  the 
door.  Caroline  was  up  stairs,  his  wife, 
and  her  picture  the  crack  portrait  of 
the  Exhibition.  With  her  by  his 
side,  Andrea  Fitch  felt  he  could  do 
anything.  Half  a  dozen  carriages  at 
his  door,  —  a  hundred  guineas  for  a 
Kit-Cat  portrait.  Lady  Fitch,  Sir 
Andrew  Fitch,  the  President's  chain, 
—  all  sorts  of  bright  visions  floated 
before  his  imagination  ;  and  as  Caro- 
line was  the  first  precious  condition 
of  his  preferment,  he  determined  forth- 
with to  begin,  and  realize  that. 

But  O  disappointment !  on  com- 
ing down  to  dinner  at  three  o'clock 
to  that  charming  tete-a-tete,  he  found 
no  less  than  four  covers  laid  on  the 
table,  Miss  Caroline  blushing  (accord- 
ing to  custom)  at  the  head  of  it; 
Becky,  the  maid,  grinning  at  the 
foot ;  and  Mr.  Brandon  sitting  quiet- 
ly on  one  side,  as  much  at  home,  for- 
sooth, as  if  he  had  held  that  position 
for  a  year. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  moment  after 
Fitch  retired,  Brandon,  inspired  by 
jealousy,  had  made  the  same  request 
which  had  been  brought  forward  by 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


45 


the  painter ;  nor  must  the  ladies  be 
too  an<rry  with  Caroline,  if  after  some 
seruples  and  otru;:gles,  she  yielded  to 
the  proposal.  Remember  that  the 
girl  was  the  daughter  of  a  hoarding- 
house,  ace  ustomed  to  continual  deal- 
ings with  her  mamma's  lodgers,  and 
up  to  the  present  moment  thinking 
hei'scif  as  safe  among  them  as  the 
young  person  who  walked  through 
Ireland  with  a  bright  gold  wand, 
in  the  song  of  Mr.  Thomas  Moore. 
On  the  point,  however,  of  Brandon's 
admission,  it  must  be  confessed,  for 
Caroline's  honor,  that  she  did  hesi- 
tate. She  felt  that  she  entertained 
very  different  feelings  towards  him  to 
those  with  which  any  other  lodger  or 
man  had  inspired  her,  and  made  a  little 
movement  of  resistance  at  first.  But 
the  poor  girl's  modesty  overcame 
this,  as  well  as  her  wish.  Ought 
she  to  avoid  hiral  Ought  she  not 
to  stifle  any  preference  which  she 
might  feel  towards  him,  and  act  to- 
wards him  with  the  same  indifference 
which  she  would  show  to  any  other 
person  in  a  like  situation  ■?  Was  not 
Mr.  Fitch  to  dine  at  table  as  usual, 
and  had  she  refused  him  ?  So  rea- 
soned she  in  her  heart.  Silly  little 
cunning  heart !  it  knew  that  all  these 
reasons  were  lies,  and  that  she  should 
avoid  the  man ;  but  she  was  willing 
to  accept  of  any  pretext  for  meeting, 
and  so  made  a  kind  of  compromise 
with  her  conscience.  Dine  he  should ; 
but  Becky  should  dine  too,  and  be  a 

1)rotector  to  her.  Becky  laughed 
oudly  at  the  idea  of  this,  and  took 
her  place  with  huge  delight. 

It  is  needless  to  say  a  word  about 
this  dinner,  as  we  have  already  de- 
scribed a  former  meal ;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  the  presence  of  Brandon 
caused  the  painter  to  be  excessively 
sulky  and  uncomfortable ;  and  so 
gave  his  rival,  who  was  gay,  trium- 
phant, and  at  his  ease,  a  decided  ad- 
vantage over  him.  Nor  did  Brandon 
neglect  t.)  r.^e  this  to  the  utmost. 
When  Fitch  retired  to  his  own  apart- 
ments, —  not  jealous  as  yet,  for  the 
simple  fellow  believed  every  word  of 


Brandon's  morning  conversation  with 
liini,  —  but  vaguely  annoyed  and  dis- 
api;uiuted,  Brandon  assailed  him  with 
all  the  force  of  ridicule ;  at  all  his 
manners,  words,  looks,  he  joked  mer- 
cilessly ;  laughed  at  his  low  birth, 
(Miss  Gann,  be  it  remembered,  had 
been  taught  to  pique  herself  upon  her 
own  family),  and  invented  a  scries  of 
stories  concerning  his  past  life  which 
made  the  ladies  —  for  Becky,  being 
in  the  parlor,  must  be  considered  as 
such  —  conceive  the  greatest  con- 
tempt and  pity  for  the  poor  painter. 

After  this,  Mr.  Brandon  would  ex- 
patiate with  much  eloquence  upon  his 
own  superior  attractions  and  qualities. 
He  talked  of  his  cousin.  Lord  So-and- 
so,  with  the  easiest  air  imaginable ; 
told  Caroline  what  princesses  he  had 
danced  with  at  foreign  courts  ;  fiight- 
ened  her  with  accounts  of  dreadful 
duels  he  had  fought;  in  a  word, 
"  posed  "  before  her  as  a  hero  of  the 
most  sublime  kind.  How  the  ].oor 
little  thing  drank  in  all  his  tales  ;  and 
how  she  and  Becky  (for  they  now  occu- 
pied the  same  bedroom)  talked  over 
them  at  night  ! 

Miss  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Fitch  has 
already  stated,  had  in  her  possession, 
like  almost  every  young  lady  in  I'ng- 
land,  a  little  square  book  called  an  al- 
bum, containing  prints  from  annuals  ; 
hideous  designs  of  flowers ;  old  jiic- 
tures  of  faded  fashions,  cut  out  and 
pasted  into  the  leaves  ;  and  snsall 
scraps  of  verses  selected  from  Byron, 
Landon,  or  Mrs.  Hemans  ;  and  wi  it- 
ten  out  in  the  girlish  hand  of  the  own- 
er of  the  book.  Brandon  looked  over 
this  work  with  a  good  deal  of  curios- 
ity, —  for  he  contended,  always,  that 
a  girl's  disposition  might  he  learned 
from  the  character  of  this  museinn  of 
hers,  —  and  found  here  several  skcuh- 
es  by  Mr.  Fitch,  for  which,  before  that 
gentleman  had  declared  his  passion 
for  her,  Caroline  had  begged.  Tluse 
sketches  the  sentimental  painter  had 
illustrated  with  poetry,  v.  hich,  I  must 
confess,  Caroline  thought  charming, 
until  now,  when  Mr.  Brandon  took 
occasion  to  point  out  how  wretched- 


46 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


ly  poor  the  verses  were  (as  indeed 
was  the  fact),  and  to  parody  them  all. 
He  was  not  unskilful  at  this  kind  of 
exercise,  and  at  the  drawing  of  cari- 
catures, and  had  soon  made  a  dozen 
of  both  parodies  and  drawings,  which 
reflected  cruelly  upon  the  person  and 
the  talents  of  the  painter. 

What  now  did  tliis  wicked  Mr. 
Brandon  do  ?  He,  in  the  first  place, 
drew  a  caricature  of  Fitch  ;  and,  sec- 
ondly, having  gone  to  a  gardener's 
near  the  town,  and  purchased  there  a 
bunch  of  violets,  he  presented  them  to 
Miss  Caroline,  and  wrote  Mr.  Fitch's 
own  verses  before  given  into  her  al- 
bum. He  signed  them  with  his  own 
initials,  and  thus  declared  open  war 
with  the  painter. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

WHICH  BRINGS  A  GREAT  NUMBER 
OF  PEOPLE  TO  MARGATE  BY  THE 
STEAMBOAT. 

The  events  which  this  history  re- 
cords began  in  the  month  of  February. 
Time  had  now  passed,  and  April  had 
arrived,  and  with  it  that  festive  sea- 
son so  loved  by  school -Ixjys,  and  called 
the  Easter  holidays.  Not  only  school- 
boys, but  men,  profit  by  this  period 
of  leisure,  —  such  men,  especially,  as 
have  just  come  into  enjoyment  of 
their  own  cups  and  saucers,  and  are 
in  daily  expectation  of  their  whiskers, 
—  college  men,  I  mean,  —  who  are 
persons  more  anxious  than  any  oth- 
ers to  designate  themselves  and  each 
other  by  the  manly  title. 

Among  other  men,  then,  ray  Lord 
Viscount  Cinqbars  of  Christchurch, 
Oxon,  received  a  sum  of  money  to  pay 
his  quarter's  bill,  and  having  written 
to  his  papa  that  he  was  busily  engaged 
in  reading  for  the  "  little-go,"  and 
must,  therefore,  decline  the  delight  he 
had  promised  himself  of  passincr  the 
vacation  at  Cinqbars  Hall,  —  and  liav- 
ing,  the  day  after  his  letter  was  de- 
spatched, driven  to  town  tandem  with 
young   "Tom  Tufthunt,  of  the  same 


University,  —  and  having  exhausted 
the  pleasures  of  the  metropolis,  — 
the  theatres,  the  Cider-cellars,  the  Fin- 
ish, the  station  -  houses,  and  other 
places  which  need  by  no  means  he 
here  particularized,  —  Lord  Cinqbars, 
I  say,  growing  tired  of  London  at  the 
end  of  ten  days,  quitted  the  metropo- 
lis somewhat  suddenly:  nor  did  he 
pay  his  hotel  bill  at  Long's  before  his 
departure ;  but  he  left  that  document 
in  possession  of  the  landlord,  as  a 
token  of  his  (my  Lord  Cinqbars's)  con- 
fidence in  his  host. 

Tom  Tufthunt  went  with  my  Lord, 
of  course  (although  of  an  aristocratic 
turn  in  politics,  Tom  loved  and  re- 
spected a  lord  as  much  as  any  demo- 
crat in  England).  And  whither  do 
you  think  this  worthy  pair  of  young 
gentlemen  were  bound  ?  To  no  less 
a  place  than  Margate ;  for  Cinqbars 
was  filled  with  a  longing  to  go  and 
see  his  old  friend  Brandon,  and  deter- 
mined, to  use  his  own  elegant  words, 
"  to  knock  the  old  buck  up." 

There  was  no  adventiu'e  of  conse- 
quence on  board  the  steamer  which 
brought  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  friend 
from  London  to  Margate,  and  very 
few  passengers  besides.  A  wander- 
ing Jew  or  two  were  set  down  at 
Gravesend ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wacker- 
bart,  and  six  unhappy  little  pupils 
whom  the  reverend  gentleman  had 
pounced  upon  in  London,  and  was 
carrying  back  to  his  academy  near 
Heme  Bay  ;  some  of  those  inevitable 
persons  of  dubious  rank  who  seem  to 
have  fi'ee  tickets,  and  always  eat  and 
drink  hugely  with  the  captain  ;  and 
a  lady  and  her  party,  formed  the 
whole  list  of  passengers. 

The  lady  —  a  very  fat  lady  — had 
evidently  just  returned  from  abroad. 
Her  great  green  travelling  -  chariot 
was  on  the  deck,  and  on  all  her  impe- 
rials were  pasted  fresh  large  bills, 
with  the  words  Ixce's  British  ho- 
tel, Bol'logne-scr-Mer  ;  for  it  is 
tiie  custom  of  that  worthy  gentleman 
to  seize  upon  and  plaster  all  the  lug- 
gage of  his  guests  with  tickets,  on 
which  his  name  and  residence  are  in- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


47 


•cribed,  —  by  which  simple  means  he  ] 
keeps  himself  perpetually  in  their  rec- 
ollection, and  brings  himself  to  the 
notice  of  all  other  persons  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  peering  at  their  fellow- 
passengers'  trunks  to  find  out  their 
names.  I  need  not  say  what  a  large 
class  this  is. 

Well ;  this  fat  lady  had  a  courier,  a 
tall,  whiskered  man,  who  spoke  all 
languages,  looked  like  a  field-marshal, 
went  by  the  name  of  Donnerwetter, 
and  rode  on  the  box ;  a  French  maid. 
Mademoiselle  Augustine ;  and  a  little 
black  page,  called  Saladin,  who  rode 
in  the  rumble.  Saladin's  whole  busi- 
ness was  to  attend  a  wheezy,  fat,  white 
poodle,  who  usually  travelled  inside 
with  his  mistress  and  her  fair  com- 
pagnon  de  voyage,  whose  name  was 
Miss  Runt.  This  fat  lady  was  evi- 
dently a  person  of  distinction.  Dur- 
ing the  first  part  of  the  voyage,  on  a 
windy,  sunshiny  April  day,  she  paced 
the  deck  stoutly,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  poor  little  Miss  Runt;  and  after 
they  had  passed  Gravesend,  when  the 
vessel  began  to  pitch  a  good  deal,  re- 
tired to  her  citadel,  the  travelling- 
chariot,  to  and  from  which  the  stew- 
ard, the  stewardess,  and  the  whiskered 
courier  were  continually  running  with 
supplies,  —  of  SHudwiches  first,  and 
afterwards  of  very  hot  brandy-and- 
water :  for  the  truth  must  be  told,  it 
was  rather  a  rough  afternoon,  and 
the  poodle  was  sick ;  Saladin  was  as 
bad ;  the  French  maid,  like  all  French 
maids,  was  outrageously  ill ;  the  lady 
herself  was  very  unwell  indeed  ;  and 
poor,  dear,  sympathizing  Runt  was 
qualmish. 

"  Ah,  Runt ! "  would  the  fat  lady 
say  in  the  intervals,  "what  a  thing 
this  malady  de  mare  is !  Oh,  mong 
jew  !     Oh  —  oh  ! " 

"  It  is,  indeed,  dear  madam,"  said 
Runt,  and  went,  "Oh  —  oh!"  in 
chorus. 

"  Ask  the  steward  if  we  are  near 
Margate,  Runt."  And  Runt  did, 
and  asked  this  question  every  five 
minutes,  as  people  do  on  these  occa- 
sions. 


"  Issy  Monsieur  Donnerwetter :  al- 
ly dimandy  ung  pew  d'o  sho  poor 
mwaw." 

"  Et  dc  I'eau  de  fie  afec,  n'est-ce 
bas,  Matanie  ?  "  said  Mr.  Donnerwet- 
ter. 

"  Wee,  wee,  comme  vous  vouly." 

And  Donnerwetter  knew  very  well 
what  "comme  vous  vouly"  meant, 
and  brought  the  liquor  exactly  in  the 
wished-for  state. 

"  Ah,  Runt,  Runt !  there  's  some- 
thing even  worse  than  sea-sickness. 
Heigh-ho !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  Marianne,  don't  flutter 
yourself,"  cries  Runt,  squeezing  a  fat 
paw  of  her  friend  and  patroness  be- 
tween her  own  bony  fingers.  "Don't 
agitate  your  nerves,  dear.  I  know 
you  're  miserable ;  but  have  n't  you 
got  a  friend  in  your  faithful  Runty  ?  " 

"  You  're  a  good  crcater,  that  you 
are,"  said  the  fat  lady,  who  seemed 
herself  to  be  a  good-humored  old 
soul ;  "  and  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  you.  Heigh- 
ho!" 

"  Cheer  up,  dear  !  you  '11  be  hap- 
pier when  you  get  to  Margate ;  you 
know  you  will,"  cried  Runt,  very 
knowingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Elizabeth?  " 

"  You  know  very  well,  dear  Mari- 
anne. I  mean  that  there  's  some  one 
there  will  make  you  happy ;  though 
he's  a  nasty  wretch,  that  he  is,  to 
have  treated  my  darling,  beautiful 
Marianne  so." 

"  Runt,  Runt,  don't  abuse  that  best 
of  men.  Don't  call  me  beautiful, — 
I  'm  not,  Runt ;  I  have  been,  but  I 
ain't  now ;  and  oh  !  no  woman  in  the 
world  is  assy  bong  poor  lui." 

"  But  an  angel  is ;  and  you  arc, 
as  you  always  was,  an  angel,  — as 
good  as  an  angel,  as  kind  as  an  angel, 
as  beautiful  as  one." 

"  Ally  dong,"  said  her  companion, 
giving  her  a  push  ;  "  you  flatter  me, 
Runt,  you  know  you  do." 

"  May  I  be  struck  down  dead  if  I 
don't  say  the  truth  ;  and  if  he  refuses 
you,  as  he  did  at  Rome, — that  is, 
after  all  his  attentions  and  vows,  he  's 


48 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


faithless  to  you,  —  I  say  he 's  a  wretch, 
that  lie  is ;  and  I  ^vill  say  he  's  a  wretch, 
and  he  is  a  wretch,  —  a  nasty,  wicited 
wretch !  " 

"  Elizabeth,  if  you  say  that,  you  '11 
break  my  heart,  you  will  !  Vous  cas- 
serez  mong  pover  cure."  But  Eliza- 
beth swore,  on  the  contrary,  that  she 
would  die  for  her  Marianne,  which 
consoled  the  fat  lady  a  little. 

A  great  deal  more  of  this  kind  of 
conversation  took  place  during  the 
voyage ;  but  as  it  occurred  inside  a 
carriage,  so  that  to  hear  it  was  very 
difficult,  and  as  possibly  it  was  not  of 
that  edifying  nature  which  would  in- 
duce the  reader  to  relish  many  chap- 
ters of  it,  we  shall  give  no  further  ac- 
count of  the  ladies'  talk  :  suffice  it  to 
sa}',  that  about  half  past  four  o'clock 
the  journey  ended,  by  the  vessel  bring- 
ing up  at  Margate  Pier.  The  pas- 
sengers poured  forth,  and  hied  to  their 
respective  homes  or  inns.  My  Lord 
Cinqbars  and  his  companion  (of 
whom  we  have  said  nothing,  as  they 
on  their  sides  had  scarcely  spoken  a 
word  the  whole  way,  except  "  deuce- 
ace,"  "  quater-tray,"  "  sizes,"  and  so 
on,  —  being  occujjied  ceaselessly  in 
drinking  bottled  stout  and  playing 
backgammon,)  ordered  their  luggage 
to  be  conveyed  to  "  Wright's  Hotel," 
whither  the  fat  lady  and  suite  followed 
them.  The  house  was  vacant,  and 
the  best  rooms  in  it  were  placed,  of 
course,  at  the  service  of  the  new-com- 
ers. The  fat  lady  sailed  out  of  her 
bedroom  towards  her  saloon,  just  as 
Lord  Cinqbars,  cigar  in  mouth,  was 
swaggering  out  of  his  parlor.  They 
met  in  the  passage ;  when,  to  the 
young  lord's  surprise,  the  fat  lady 
dropped  him  a  low  courtesy,  and  i 
said,  — 

"  Munseer  le  Vecomtede  Cinqbars,  j 
sharmy   de  vous   voir.      Vous   vous 
rappelez  de  mwaw,  n'est-ce  pas  ?     Je 
vous  ai  vew  a  Rome,  —  shay  I'am- 
bassadure,  vous  savy." 

Lord  Cinqbars  stared  her  in  the 
face,  and  pushed  by  her  without  a 
word,  leaving  the  fat  lady  rather  dis- 
concerted. 


"  Well,  Runt,  I  'm  sure,"  said  she, 
"  he  need  not  be  so  proud  ;  I  've  met 
him  twenty  times  at  Rome,  when  he 
was  a  young  chap  with  his  tutor." 

"  Who  the  devil  can  that  fat  for- 
eigner be  ?  "  mused  liord  Cinqbars. 
"  Hang  her,  I  've  seen  her  somewhere ; 
but  I  'm  cursed  if  I  understand  a  word 
of  her  jabber."  And  so,  dismissing 
the  subject,  he  walked  on  to  Bran- 
don's. 

"  Dang  it,  it 's  a  strange  thing  ! " 
said  the  landlord  of  the  hotel ;  "  but 
both  my  Lord  and  the  fat  woman  in 
number  nine  have  asked  their  way 
to  Mother  Gann's  lodging,"  —  for  so 
did  he  dare  to  call  that  respectable 
woman  1 

It  was  true  :  as  soon  as  number 
nine  had  eaten  her  dinner,  she  asked 
the  question  mentioned  by  the  land- 
lord ;  and,  as  this  meal  occupied  a 
considerable  time,  the  shades  of  even- 
ing had  by  this  time  fallen  upon  the 
quiet  city ;  the  silver  moon  lighted 
up  the  bay,  and,  supported  by  a  nu- 
merous  and  well-appointed  train  of 
gas-lamps,  illuminated  the  streets  of  a 
town,  —  of  autumn  eves  so  crowded 
and  so  gay ;  of  gusty  April  nights, 
so  desolate.  At  this  still  hour  (it 
might  be  half  past  seven),  two  ladies 
passed  the  gates  of  "  Wright's  Ho- 
tel," "  in  shrouding  mantle  wrapped, 
and  velvet  cap."  Up  the  deserted 
High  Street  toiled  they,  by  gaping 
rows  of  enipty  bathing-houses,  by 
melancholy  Jolly's  French  bazaar,  by 
mouldy  pastry-cooks,  blank  reading- 
rooms,  by  fishmongers  who  never 
sold  a  fish,  mercers  who  vended  not  a 
yard  of  ribbon,  —  because,  as  yet,  the 
season  was  not  come,  —  and  Jews 
and  Cockne3"S  still  remained  in  town. 
At  High  Street  comer,  near  to  Haw- 
ley  Square,  they  passed  the  house  of 
Mr.  Fincham,  chemist,  who  doth  not 
only  healthful  drugs  supply,  but  like- 
wise sells  cigars, — the  worst  cigars 
that  ever  mortal  man  gave  threepence 
for. 

Up  to  this  point,  I  say,  I  have  had 
a  right  to  accompany  the  fat  lady  and 
Miss  Runt ;  but  whether,  on  arriving 


A"  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


49 


at  Mr.  Fincham's,  they  turned  to  the 
left,  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Royal 
Hotel,"  or  to  the  right,  by  the  beach, 
the  bathing-machines,  and  queer  rick- 
ety old  row  of  houses,  called  Buenos 
Ayres,  no  power  on  earth  shall  induce 
me  to  say ;  suffice  it,  they  went  to 
Mrs.  Gann's.  Why  should  we  set 
all  the  world  gadding  to  a  particular 
street,  to  know  where  that  lady  lives  1 
They  arrived  before  that  lady's  house 
at  about  eight  o'clock.  Every  house 
in  the  street  had  bills  on  it  except 
hers  (bitter  mockery,  as  if  anybody 
came  down  at  Easter!)  and  at  Mrs. 
Gann's  house  there  was  a  light  in  the 
garret,  and  another  in  the  two-pair 
front.  I  believe  I  have  not  mentioned 
before,  that  all  the  front  windows  were 
bow  or  bay  windows ;  but  so  much 
the  reader  may  know. 

The  two  ladies,  who  had  walked  so 
far,  examined  wistfully  the  plate  on 
the  door,  stood  on  the  steps  for  a 
short  time,  retreated,  and  conversed 
with  one  another. 

"  O  Runty !  "  said  the  stouter  of 
the  two,  "  he  's  here,  —  I  know  he  's 
here,  mong  cure  Ic  dee,  —  my  heart 
tells  me  so."  And  she  put  a  large 
hand  upon  a  place  on  her  left  side, 
where  there  once  had  been  a  waist. 

"  Do  you  think  he  looks  front  or 
back,  dear  ?  "  asked  Runt.  "  P'raps 
he  's  not  at  home." 

"That — that's  his  croisy,"  said 
the  stout  person  ;  "  I  know  it  is  " ; 
and  she  pointed  with  instinctive  jus- 
tice to  the  two-pair.  "  Ecouty  ! "  she 
added,  "  he  's  coming ;  there  's  some 
one  at  that  window.  0,  mong  jew, 
mong  jew  !  c'est  Andre,  c'est  lui !  " 

The  moon  was  shining  full  on  the 
face  of  the  bow-windows  of  Mrs. 
Gann's  house ;  and  the  two  fair  spies, 
who  were  watching  on  the  other  side, 
were,  in  consequence,  completely  in 
shadow.  As  the  lady  said,  a  dark 
form  was  seen  in  the  two-pair  front ; 
it  paced  the  loom  for  a  while,  for  no 
blinds  were  drawn.  It  then  flung 
itself  on  a  chair  ;  its  head  on  its 
hands  ;  it  then  began  to  beat  its 
brows  wildly,   and   paced   the  room 


again.  Ah  !  how  the  fat  lady's  heart 
tlirohbcd  as  she  looked  at  all'this! 

She  ^'avc  a  piercing  shriek,  —  al- 
most i'ainted  !  and  little  Runt's  knees 
trembled  under  her,  as  with  all  her 
might  she  sn])])orted,  or  rather  pushed 
up,  the  falling  figure  of  her  stout 
patroness,  —  who  saw  at  that  instant 
Fitch  come  to  the  candle  with  an  im- 
mense pistol  in  his  hand,  and  give  a 
most  horrible  grin  as  he  looked  at  it, 
and  clasped  it  to  his  breast. 

"  Unhand  me,  Runt ;  he  's  going 
to  kill  himself !  It  's  for  me  !  I 
know  it  is  —  I  will  go  to  him  !  An- 
drea, my  Andrea  !  "  And  the  fat  la- 
dy was  pushing  for  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way,  when  suddenly  the  sec- 
ond-floor window  went  clattering  up, 
and  Fitch's  ]jalc  head  was  thrust  out. 

He  had  heard  a  scream,  and  had 
possibly  been  induced  to  open  the 
window  in  consequence  ;  but  by  the 
time  he  had  opened  it  he  had  forgot- 
ten everything,  and  put  his  head  va- 
cantly out  of  the  window,  and  gazed, 
the  moon  sliining  cold  on  his  pale 
features. 

"  Pallid  horb  !  "  said  Fitch,  "  shall 
I  ever  see  thy  light  again  ?  Will 
another  night  see  me  on  this  hearth, 
or  view  me,  stark  and  cold,  a  lifeless 
corpse  ?  "  He  took  his  pistol  up,  and 
slowly  aimed  it  at  a  chimney-pot  op- 
posite. Fancy  the  fat  lady's  sensa- 
tions, as  she  beheld  her  lover  stand- 
ing in  the  moonlight,  and  exercising 
this  deadly  weapon. 

"  Make  ready  —  present  —  fire  !  " 
shouted  Fitch,  and  did  instantaneous- 
ly, not  fire  off',  but  lower  his  weapon. 
"  The  bolt  of  death  is  sped  !  "  contin- 
ued he,  clapping  his  hand  on  his  side. 
"  The  poor  painter's  life  is  over  !  Car- 
oline, Caroline,  I  die  for  thee  !  " 

"  Runt,  Runt,  I  told  you  so  !  " 
shrieked  the  fat  lady.  "  He  is  dying 
for  me,  and  Caroline  's  my  second 
name." 

What  the  fat  lady  would  have  done 
more,  I  can't  say  ;  for  Fitch,  disturbed 
out  of  his  revery  by  her  talking  be- 
low, looked  out,  frowning  vacantly, 
and  saying,  "  Ulloh  !  we  've  hinter- 
D 


50 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


lopers  'ere !  "  suddenly  banged  down 
the  window,  and  pulled  down  the 
blinds. 

This  gave  a  check  to  the  fat  lady's 
projected  rush,  and  disconcerted  her 
a  little.  But  she  was  consoled  by 
iVIiss  Hunt,  who  promised  to  return  on 
the  morrow,  and  went  home  happy 
in  the  idea  that  her  Andrea  was  faith- 
ful to  her. 

Alas,  poor  fat  lady  !  little  did  you 
know  the  truth.  It  was  Caroline 
Gann  Fitch  was  raving  about  ;  and 
it  was  a  part  of  his  last  letter  to  her, 
to  be  delivered  after  his  death,  that  he 
was  spouting  out  of  the  window. 

Was  the  crazy  painter  going  to 
fight  a  duel,  or  was  he  going  to  kill 
himself?  This  will  be  explained  in 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

WHICH  TREATS  OF  WAR  AND  LOVE, 
AND  MANY  THINGS  THAT  ARE 
NOT  TO  BE  UNDERSTOOD  IN  CHAP. 
VII. 

Fitch's  verses,  inserted  in  a  pre- 
vious chapter  of  this  story  (and  of 
which  lines,  by  the  way,  the  printer 
managed  to  make  still  greater  non- 
sense than  the  ingenious  bard  ever 
designed),  had  been  composed  many 
years  before  ;  and  it  was  with  no 
small  trouble  and  thought  that  the 
young  painter  called  the  greater  part 
of  them  to  memory  again,  and  fur- 
bished up  a  copy  for  Caroline's  album. 
Unlike  the  love  of  most  men,  Andrea's 
passion  was  not  characterized  by 
jealousy  and  watchfulness,  otherwise 
he  would  not  have  failed  to  perceive 
certain  tokens  of  intelligence  passing 
from  time  to  time  between  Caroline 
and  Brandon,  and  the  lady's  evident 
<'oldness  to  himself  The  fact  is,  the 
painter  was  in  love  with  being  in  love, 
—  entirely  absorbed  in  the  considera- 
tion of  the  fact  that  he,  Andrea  Fitch, 
was  at  last  enamored  ;  and  he  did 
not  mind  his   mistress  much   more 


than  Don  Quixote  did  Dulcinea  del 

Toboso. 

Having  rubbed  up  his  verses,  then, 
and  designed  a  pretty  emblematical 
outline  which  was  to  surround  them, 
representing  an  arabesque  of  violets, 
dewdrops,  fairies,  and  otlier  objects,  ho 
came  down  one  morning,  drawing  in 
hand ;  and  having  informed  Caroline, 
who  was  sitting  very  melancholy  in  the 
parlor,  preoccupied,  with  a  pale  face 
and  red  eyes,  and  not  caring  twopence 
for  the  finest  drawing  in  the  world, 

—  having  informed  her  that  he  was 
going  to  make  in  her  halbum  a  hum- 
ble hoflfering  of  his  hart,  poor  Fitch 
was  just  on  the  point  of  sticking  in 
the  drawing  with  gum,  as  painters 
know  very  well  how  to  do,  when  his 
eye  lighted  upon  a  page  of  the  album, 
in  wluch  nestled  a  few  dried  violets 
and  —  his  own  verses,  signed  with 
the  name  of  George  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Caroline,  —  Miss  Gann, 
mam  !  "  shrieked  Fitch,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  which  made  the  young  lady 
start  out  of  a  profound  revery,  and 
cry  nervously,  —  "  What  in  heaven 
is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  These  verses,  madam,  —  a  faded 
violet,  —  word  for  word,  gracious 
'eavens  !  every  word !  "  roared  Fitch, 
advancing  with  the  book. 

She  looked  at  him  rather  vacantly, 
and  as  the  violets  caught  her  eye,  put 
out  her  hand,  and  took  them.  "  Do 
you  know  the  hawthor.  Miss  Gann, 
of  '  The  faded  Violets  '  ?  " 

"  Author  1       0    yes  ;     they    are 

—  they  are  George's  !  "  She  burst 
into  tears  as  she  said  that  word ;  and, 
pulling  the  little  faded  flowers  to 
pieces,  went  sobbing  out  of  the  room. 

i  Dear,  dear  little  Caroline  !  she  has 
only  been  in  love  two  months,  and  is 
already  beginning  to  feel  the  woes  of 
it! 

It  cannot  be  from  want  of  experi- 
I  ence,  —  for  I  have  felt  the  noble  pas- 
j  sion  of  love  many  times  these  forty 
1  years,  since  I  was  a  boy  of  twelve  ( by 
j  which  the  reader  may  form  a  pretty 
I  good  guess  of  my  age),  —  it  cannot 
I  be,  I  say,  from   want  of  experience 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


51 


fhat  I  fttn  unable  to  describe,  step  by 
step,  the  progress  of  a  love-affair  ; 
nay,  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  I 
could,  if  I  chose,  make  a  most  aston- 
ishing and  heart-rending  liber  amoris ; 
but,  nevertheless,  I  always  feel  a  vast 
repugnance  to  the  following  out  of 
a  subject  of  this  kind,  which  I  attrib- 
ute to  a  natural  diffidence  and  sense 
of  shame  that  prevent  me  from  enlar- 
ging on  a  theme  that  has  in  it  some- 
thing sacred,  —  certain  arcana  which 
an  honest  man,  although  initiated 
into  them,  should  not  divulge. 

If  such  coy  scruples  and  blushing 
delicacy  prevent  one  from  passing  the 
threshold  even  of  an  honorable  love, 
and  setting  down,  at  so  many  guineas 
or  shillings  per  page,  the  pious  emo- 
tions and  tendernesses  of  two  persons 
chastely  and  legally  engaged  in  sigh- 
ing, ogling,  hand-squeezing,  kissing, 
and  so  Ibrth  (for  with  such  outward 
signs  I  believe  that  the  passion  of 
love  is  expressed),  —  if  a  man  feel,  I 
say,  squeamish  about  describing  an 
innocent  love,  he  is  doubly  disinclined 
to  describe  a  guilty  one  ;  and  I  have 
always  felt  a  kind  of  loathing  for  the 
skill  of  such  geniuses  as  Rousseau  or 
Richardson,  who  could  paint  with 
such  painful  accuracy  all  the  struggles 
and  woes  of  Eloise  and  Clarissa,  — 
all  the  yvicked  arts  and  triumphs  of 
such  scoundrels  as  Lovelace. 

We  have  in  this  history  a  scoun- 
drelly Lovelace  in  the  person  going 
by  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  and 
a  dear,  tender,  innocent,  yielding 
creature  on  whom  he  is  practising  his 
infernal  skill ;  and  whetlicr  the  public 
feel  any  sympathy  for  her  or  not,  the 
writer  can  only  say,  for  his  part,  that 
he  heartily  loves  and  respects  poor 
little  Caroline,  and  is  quite  unwilling 
to  enter  into  any  of  the  slow,  painful, 
wicked  details  of  the  courtship  which 
passed  between  her  and  her  lover. 

Not  that  there  was  any  wickedness 
on  her  side,  poor  girl !  or  that  she  did 
anything  but  follow  the  natural  and 
beautiful  impulses  of  an  honest  little 
female  heart,  that  leads  it  to  trust 
and  love,  and  worship  a  being  of  the 


other  sex,  whom  the  eager  fancy  in- 
vests with  all  sorts  of  attributes  of 
superiority.  There  was  no  wild, 
conceited  tale  that  Brandon  told 
Caroline  which  she  did  not  believe,  — 
no  virtue  which  she  could  conceive  or 
had  read  of  in  novels  with  which 
she  did  not  endow  liiin.  Many  long 
talks  had  they,  and  many  sweet, 
stolen  interviews,  during  the  periods 
in  which  Caroline's  father  and  moth- 
er were  away  making  merry  at  the 
house  of  their  son-in-law ;  and  while 
she  was  left  under  the  care  of  her 
virtue  and  of  Becky  the  maid.  In- 
deed, it  was  a  blessing  that  the  latter 
was  left  in  the  joint  guardianship. 
For  Becky,  who  had  such  an  absurd 
opinion  of  her  young  lady's  merits  as 
to  fancy  that  she  was  a  fit  wife  for 
any  gentleman  of  the  land,  and  that 
any  gentleman  might  be  charmed  and 
fall  in  love  with  her,  had  some  in- 
stinct, or  possibly  some  experience,  as 
to  the  passions  and  errors  of  youth, 
and  warned  Caroline  accordingly. 
"  If  he  's  really  in  love.  Miss,  and  I 
think  he  be,  he  'II  marry  }ou  ;  if  he 
won't  marry  you,  he  's  a  rascal,  and 
you  're  too  good  for  him,  and  must 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him."  To 
which  Caroline  replied,  that  she  was 
sure  Mr.  Brandon  was  the  most  an- 
gelic, high-priiK-ipled  of  human  be- 
ings, and  that  she  was  sure  his  in- 
tentions were  of  the  most  honorable 
description. 

We  have  before  described  what  Mr. 
Bnmdon's  character  was.  He  was 
not  a  man  of  honorable  intentions  at 
all.  But  he  was  a  gentleman  of  so 
excessively  eager  a  temperament,  that 
if  properly  resisted  by  a  jiractiscd 
coquette,  or  by  a  woman  of  strong 
principles,  he  would  sacrifice  anything 
to  obtain  his  ends,  —  nay,  marry  to 
obtain  them ;  and,  considering  his 
disposition,  it  is  only  a  wonder  that 
he  had  not  been  married  a  great  num- 
ber of  times  already  ;  for  he  had  been 
in  love  perpetually  since  his  seven- 
teenth jear.  By  which  the  reader 
may  pretty  well  appreciate  the  virtue 
or  the  prudence  of  the  ladies  with 


52 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL  STORY, 


whom  hitherto  our  inflammable  young 
gentleman  had  had  to  do. 

The  fruit,  then,  of  all  his  stolen  in- 
terviews, of  all  his  prayers,  vows,  and 
protestations  to  Caroline,  had  been 
only  this,  —  that  she  loved  him  ;  but 
loved  him  as  an  honest  girl  should, 
and  was  ready  to  go  to  the  altar  with 
him  when  he  chose.  He  talked  about 
his  family,  his  peculiar  circumstances, 
his  proud  fatlier's  curse.  Little  Caro- 
line only  sighed,  and  said  her  dearest 
George  must  wait  until  he  could  ob- 
tain his  parent's  consent.  When 
pressed  harder,  she  would  burst  into 
tears,  and  wonder  how  one  so  good 
and  affectionate  as  he  could  propose 
to  her  anything  unworthy  of  them 
both.  It  is  clear  to  see  that  the 
young  lady  had  read  a  vast  number 
of  novels,  and  knew  something  of  the 
nature  of  love ;  and  that  she  had  a 
good  principle  and  honesty  of  her 
own,  which  set  her  lover's  schemes  at 
naught :  indeed,  she  had  both  these 
advantages,  —  her  education,  such  as 
it  was,  having  given  her  the  one,  and 
her  honest  nature  having  endowed 
her  with  the  other. 

On  the  day  when  Fitch  came  down 
to  Caroline  with  his  verses,  Brandon 
had  pressed  these  unworthy  propo- 
sitions upon  her.  She  had  torn  her- 
self violently  away  from  him,  and 
rushed  to  the  door;  but  the  poor  little 
thing  fell  before  she  could  reach  it, 
screaming  in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which 
brought  Becky  to  her  aid,  and  caused 
Brandon  to  leave  her,  abashed.  He 
■went  out ;  she  watched  him  go,  and 
stole  up  into  his  room,  and  laid  on 
his  table  the  first  letter  she  had  ever 
written  to  him.  It  was  written  in 
pencil,  in  a  trembling,  school-girl 
li;nid,  and  contained  simply  the  fol- 
lowing words : — 

"  George,  you  have  almost  broken 
my  heart.  Leave  me  if  you  will,  and 
if  you  date  not  act  like  an  honest  man. 
If  ever  you  speak  to  me  so  again  as 
you  did  this  morning,  I  declare 
solemnly  before  Heaven,  I  will  take 
poison.  C." 


Indeed,  the  poor  thing  had  read  ro- 
mances to  some  purpose ;  without 
them,  it  is  probable  she  never  would 
have  thought  of  such  a  means  of  es- 
cape from  a  lover's  persecutions  ;  and 
there  was  something  in  the  girl's 
character  that  made  Brandon  feel 
sure  that  she  would  keep  her  promise. 
How  the  words  agitated  him  !  He 
felt  a  violent  mixture  of  raging  dis- 
appointment and  admiration,  and 
loved  the  girl  ten  thousand  times 
more  than  ever. 

Mr.  Brandon  had  scarcely  finished 
the  reading  of  this  document,  and  was 
yet  agitated  by  the  various  passions 
which  the  perusal  of  it  created,  when 
the  door  of  his  apartment  was  violent- 
ly flung  open,  and  some  one  came  in. 
Brandon  started,  and  turned  round, 
with  a  kind  of  dread  that  Caroline 
had  already  executed  her  threat,  and 
that  a  messenger  was  come  to  inform 
him  of  her  death.  Mr.  Andrea  Fitch 
was  the  intruder.  His  hat  was  oHj 
his  eyes  were  glaring ;  and  if  tho 
beards  of  men  did  stand  on  end  any- 
I  where  but  in  poems  and  romances, 
i  his,  no  doubt,  would  have  formed 
round  his  countenance  a  bristling 
auburn  halo.  As  it  was.  Fitch  only 
looked  astonishingly  fierce,  as  he 
stalked  up  to  the  table,  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back.  When  he  had  arrived 
at  this  harrier  between  him'self  and 
'  Brandon,  he  stopped,  and,  speechless, 
stared  that  gentleman  in  the  face. 

"May  I  beg,  Mr.  Fitch,  to  kno(v 
I  what  has  procured  me  the  honor  of 
tills  visit  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brandon, 
i  after  a  brief  pause  of  wonder. 

"  Honor !  —  ha,  ha,  ha !  "  growl^d 
Mr.  Fitch,  in  a  most  sardonic,  dis- 
cordant way,  —  "  honor .'  " 

"  Well,  sir,  honor  or  no  honor,  I 
can  tell  you,  my  good  man,  it  cer- 
tainly is  no  pleasure  !  "  said  Brandon, 
testily.  "  In  plain  English,  then, 
what  the  devil  has  brought  you 
here  ?  " 

Fitch  plumped  the  album  down  on 
the  table  close  to  Mr.  Brandon's  nose, 
and  said,  "  Tfuit  has  brought  me,  sir, 
—  that  halbum,  sir ;  or,  I  ask  your 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOBYl 


53 


Eardon,  that  a  —  album  —  ha,  ha, 
a!" 

"  O,  I  see ! "  said  Mr.  Brandon, 
who  could  not  refrain  from  a  smile. 
"It  was  a  cruel  trick  of  mine,  Fitch, 
to  rob  you  of  your  verses  ;  but  all  's 
fair  in  love," 

■"  Fitch,  sir !  don't  Fitch  me,  sir  ! 
I  wish  to  be  hintimate  honly  with 
men  of  h-honor,  not  with  forgers,  sir ; 
not  with  'artless  miscreants  !  Mis- 
creants, sir,  I  repeat ;  vipers,  sir ; 
b-b-b-blackguards,  sir !  " 

"  Blackguards,  sir  !  "  roared  Mr. 
Brandon,  bouncing  up;  "blackguards, 
you  dirty  cockney  mountebank ! 
Quit  the  room,  sir,  or  I  '11  fling  you 
out  of  the  window  ! " 

"  Will  you,  sir  1  try,  sir ;  I  wish 
you  may  get  it,  sir.  I  'm  a  hartist, 
sir,  and  as  good  a  man  as  you.  Mis- 
creant, forger,  traitor,  come  on  !  " 

And  Mr.  Brandon  would  have 
come  on,  but  for  a  circumstance  that 
deterred  him ;  and  this  was  that  Mr. 
Fitch  drew  from  his  bosom  a  long, 
sharp,  shining,  waving  poniard  of  the 
middle  ages,  that  formed  a  part  of  his 
artistical  properties,  and  with  which 
he  had  armed  himself  for  this  en- 
counter. 

"  Come  on,  sir  !  "  shrieked  Fitch, 
brandishing  this  fearful  weapon. 
"  Lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  I  bury  this 
blade  in  your  treacherous  'art.  Ha  ! 
do  you  tremble  f  " 

Indeed,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Bran- 
don turned  somewhat  pale. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  what  do 
you  want  '^  Do  you  suppose  I  am  to 
be  bullied  by  your  absurd  melodra- 
matic airs !  It  was,  after  all,  but  a 
joke,  sir,  and  I  ^m  sorry  that  it  has 
offended  you.  Can  I  say  more  ?  — 
what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hapologize  ;  not  only 
to  me,  sir,  but  you  shall  tell  Miss 
Caroline,  in  my  presence,  that  you 
stole  those  verses  from  me,  and  used 
them  quite  unauthorized  by  me." 

"  Look  you,  Mr.  Fitch,  I  will 
make  you  another  set  of  verses  quite 
as  good,  if  you  like ;  but  what  you 
ask  is  impossible." 


"  I  will  'asten  myself,  then,  to 
Miss  Caroline,  and  acquaint  her  with 
your  dastardly  forgery,  sir.  I  will 
hopen  her  hcyes,  sir  !  " 

"  You  may  hopen  her  heyes,  as  you 
call  them,  if  you  please :  but  I  tell 
you  fairly,  that  the  young  lady  will 
credit  me  rather  than  you ;  and  if 
you  swear  ever  so  much  that  the 
verses  are  yours,  I  must  say  that  —  " 

"  Say  what,  sir?  " 

"  Say  that  you  lie,  sir  !  "  said  Mr. 
Brandon,  stamping  on  the  ground. 
"  I  '11  make  you  other  verses,  I  re- 
peat ;  but  this  is  all  I  can  do,  and 
now  go  about  your  business !  " 

"  Curse  your  verses,  sir !  liar  and 
forger  yourself !  Hare  you  a  coward 
as  well,  sir  1  A  coward  !  yes,  I  be- 
lieve you  are ;  or  will  you  meet  me 
to-morrow  morning  like  a  man,  and 
give  me  satisfaction  for  this  hinfa- 
mous  hinsult  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  with  the 
utmost  stateliness  and  scorn,  "if  you 
wish  to  murder  me  as  you  do  the 
King's  English,  I  won't  balk  you.  Al- 
though a  man  of  my  rank  is  not  called 
upon  to  meet  a  blackguard  of  your 
condition,  I  will,  nevertheless,  grant 
you  your  will.  But  have  a  care ;  by 
Heavens,  I  won't  spare  you,  and  I 
can  hit  an  ace  of  hearts  at  twenty 
paces ! " 

"  Two  can  play  at  that,"  said  Mr. 
Fitch,  calmly  ;  "  and  if  I  can't  hit  a 
hace  of  'arts  at  twenty  paces,  I  can 
hit  a  man  at  twelve,  and  to-morrow 
I  '11  try."  With  which,  giving  Mr. 
Brandon  a  look  of  the  highest  con- 
tempt, the  young  painter  left  the 
room. 

What  were  Mr.  Brandon's  thoughts 
as  his  antagonist  left  him  ?  Strange 
to  say,  rather  agreeable.  He  had 
much  too  great  a  contempt  for  Fitch 
to  suppose  that  so  low  a  fellow  should 
ever  think  seriously  of  fighting  him, 
and  reasoned  with    himself  thus:  — 

"  This  Fitch,  I  know,  will  go  off 
to  Caroline,  tell  her  the  whole  trans- 
action, frighten  her  with  the  tale  of  a 
duel,  and  then  she  and  I  shall  have  a 
scene.    I  will  tell  her  the  truth  about . 


54 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


those  infernal  verses,  menace  death, 
blood,  and  danger,  and  then  —  " 

Here  he  fell  back  into  a  charming 
revery  ;  the  wily  fellow  knew  what 
power  such  a  circumstance  would  give 
him  over  a  poor  weak  girl,  who  would 
do  anything  rather  than  that  her  be- 
loved should  risk  his  life.  And  with 
this  dastardly  speculation  as  to  the 
price  he  should  ask  for  refraining  from 
meeting  Fitch,  he  was  entertaining 
himself;  when,  much  to  his  annoy- 
ance, that  gentleman  again  came  into 
the  room. 

"  Mr.  Brandon,"  said  he,  "  you 
have  insulted  me  in  the  grossest  and 
crudest  way." 

"  Well,  sir,  are  you  come  to  apolo- 
gize "?  "  said  Brandon,  sneeringly. 

"  No,  I  'm  not  come  to  apologize, 
Mr.  Aristocrat ;  it 's  past  that.  I  'm 
come  to  say  this,  sir,  that  I  take  you 
for  a  coward ;  and  that,  unless  you 
will  give  me  your  solemn  word  of 
honor  not  to  mention  a  word  of  this 
quarrel  to  Miss  Gann,  which  might 

f)revent  our  meeting,  I  will  never 
eave  you  till  we  do  light !  " 

"  This  is  outrageous,  sir !  Leave 
the  room,  or  by  Heavens  I  '11  not 
meet  you  at  all !  " 

"  Heasy,  sir  ;  easy,  I  beg  your  par- 
don, I  can  force  you  to  that !  " 

"  And  how,  pray,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  here  's  a 
stick,  and  I  '11  'orsewhip  yon ;  and 
here  are  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  we  can 
fight  now ! " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  give  you  my  honor," 
said  Mr.  Brandon,  in  a  diabolical 
rage ;  and  added,  "  I  '11  meet  you  to- 
morrow, not  now  ;  and  you  need  not 
be  afraid  that  I  '11  miss  you  !  " 

"  Hadew,  sir,"  said  the  chivalrous 
little  Fitch ;  "  bon  giorno,  sir,  as  we 
used  to  say  at  Rome."  And  so,  for 
the  second  time,  he  left  Mr.  Brandon, 
who  did  not  like  very  well  the  ex- 
traordinary courage  he  had  displayed. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  exasperated 
the  fellow  so  ?  "  thought  Brandon. 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had 
crossed  Fitch  in  love  ;  and,  in  the 
Beeond,  he  had  sneered  at  his  proaua- 


ciation  and  his  gentility,  and  Fitch'a 
little  soul  was  in  a  fury  which  noth- 
ing but  blood  would  allay  :  he  was 
determined,  for  the  sake  of  his  hart 
and  his  lady,  to  bring  this  proud 
champion  down. 

So  Brandon  was  at  last  left  to  hig 
cogitations  ;  when,  confusion  !  about 
five  o'clock  came  another'  knock  at 
his  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  growled  the  owner  of 
the  lodgings. 

A  sallow,  blear-eyed,  rickety,  un- 
dersized creature,  tottering  upon  a 
pair  of  high-heeled  lackered  boots, 
and  supporting  himself  upon  an  im- 
mense gold-knobbed  cane,  entered  the 
room  with  his  hat  on  one  side  and  a 
jaunty  air.  It  was  a  white  hat  with 
a  broad  brim,  and  under  it  fell  a 
great  deal  of  greasy,  lank  hair  that 
shrouded  the  cheek-bones  of  the  wear- 
er. The  little  man  had  no  beard  to 
his  chin,  appeared  about  twenty  years 
of  age,  and  might  weigh,  stick  and 
all,  some  seven  stone.  If  you  wish  to 
know  how  this  exquisite  was  dressed, 
I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform  you 
that  he  wore  a  great  sky-blue  em- 
broidered satin  stock,  in  the  which 
figured  a  carbuncle  that  looked  like  a 
lambent  gooseberry.  He  had  a  shawl 
waistcoat  of  many  colors  ;  a  pair  of 
loose  blue  trousers,  neatly  strapped 
to  show  his  little  feet;  a  brown  cut- 
away coat  with  brass  buttons  that  fit- 
ted tight  round  a  spider  waist ;  and 
over  all  a  white  or  drab  surtout  with 
a  sable  collar  and  cuffs,  from  which 
latter  on  each  hand  peeped  five  little 
fingers  covered  with  lemon-colored 
kid  gloves.  One  of  these  hands  he 
held  constantly  to  his  Ijttle  chest :  and 
with  a  hoarse,  thin  voice,  he  piped 
out :  — 

"  George  my  buck !  how  goes  it  ?  " 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in 
our  description  of  the  costume  of  this 
individual  (whose  inward  man  strong- 
ly corresjjonded  with  his  manly  and 
agreeable  exterior),  because  he  was 
the  person  whom  Mr.  Brandon  most 
respected  in  the  world. 

"  CiMQBABS ! "  exclaimed  oar  hero ; 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


55 


"why,  what  the  deuce  has  brought 
you  to  Margate  ?  " 

"  Fwendship,  my  old  cock  ! "  said 
the  Honorable  Augustus  Frederick 
Ringwood,  commonly  called  Viscount 
Ginqbars,  for  indeed  it  was  he. 
"  Fwendship  and  the  City  of  Canter- 
buwy  steamer!"  and  herewith  his 
Lordship  held  out  his  right-hand  fore- 
finger to  Brandon,  who  enclosed  it 
most  cordially  in  all  his.  "  Wath  n't 
it  good  of  me,  now,  George,  to  come 
down  and  conthole  you  in  thith 
curthed,  thtupid  place,  —  hay  now  1 " 
said  my  Lord,  after  these  salutations. 

Brandon  swore  he  was  very  glad 
to  see  him,  which  was  very  true,  for 
he  had  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  upon 
his  Lordship,  than  he  had  determined 
to  borrow  as  much  money  from  him 
as  ever  he  could  induce  the  young 
nobleman  to  part  with. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  wath,  my 
boy;  you  thee  I  was  thtopping  at 
Long'th,  when  I  found,  by  Jove,  that 
the  governor  wath  come  to  town ! 
Cuth  me  if  I  did  n't  meet  the  infarnal 
old  family  dwag,  with  my  mother, 
thithterth,  and  all,  ath  I  wath  dwiv- 
ing  a  hack-cab  with  Polly  Tomkinth 
in  the  Pawk !  Tho  when  I  got  home, 
'Hang  it!'  thayth  I  to  Tufthunt, 
'Tom:  my  boy,'  thaith  I,  'I've  just 
theen  the  governor,  and  must  be  off! ' 
'What,  back  to  Ockthford?'  thaith 
Tom.  '  No,'  thaith  I,  '  that  won't  do. 
Abroad  —  to  Jewicho  —  anywhere. 
Egad,  I  have  it !  I  '11  go  down  to 
Margate  and  thee  old  George,  that  I 
will.'  And  tho  off  I  canle  the  veiy 
next  day ;  and  here  I  a,m,  and  thereth 
dinner  waiting  for  uth  at  the  hotel, 
and  thixth  bottleth  of  champagne  in 
ithe,  and  thum  thalmon :  tho  you 
mutht  come." 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Brandon 
readily  agreed,  being  glad  enough  of 
the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  and 
some  jovial  society,  for  he  was  low 
and  disturbed  in  spirits,  and  so  prom- 
ised to  dine  with  his  friend  at  the 
"  Sun." 

The  two  gentlemen  conversed  for 
some  time  longer.    Mr.  Brandon  was 


a  shrewd  fellow,  and  knew  perfectly 
well  a  fact  of  which,  no  doubt,  the 
reader  has  a  notion,  —  namely,  that 
Lord  Cinqbars  was  a  ninny;  but, 
nevertheless,  Brandon  esteemed  him 
highly  as  a  lord.  We  pardon  stupid- 
ity in  lords ;  nature  or  instinct,  how- 
ever sarcastic  a  man  may  be  among 
ordinary  persons,  renders  him  towards 
men  of  quality  benevolently  blind  :  a 
divinity  hedges  not  only  the  king, 
but  the  whole  peerage. 

"That's  the  girl,  I  suppose,"  said 
my  Lord,  knowingly  winking  at 
Brandon :  "  that  little  pale  girl,  who 
let  me  in,  I  mean.  A  nice  little  filly, 
upon  my  honor,  Georgy  my  buck ! " 

"  Oh  —  that  —  yes  —  I  wrote,  I 
think,  something  about  her,"  said 
Brandon,  blushing  slightly ;  for,  in- 
deed, he  now  began  to  wish  that  his 
friend  should  make  no  comments 
upon  a  young  lady  with  whom  he 
was  so  much  in  love. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  all  up  now  ?  "  con- 
tinued my  Lord,  lookmg  still  more 
knowing.  "  All  over  with  her,  hay  ?  I 
saw  it  was  by  her  looks,  in  a  minute." 

"  Indeed  you  do  me  a  great  deal 
too  much  honor.  Miss  —  ah  —  Miss 
Gann  is  a  very  respectable  young  per- 
son, and  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  you  to  suppose  that  I  would  do 
anything  that  should  the  least  injure 
her  character." 

At  this  speech.  Lord  Cinqbars  was 
at  first  much  puzzled ;  but,  in  con- 
sidering it,  was  fully  convinced  that 
Brandon  was  a  deeper  dog  than  ever. 
Boiling  with  impatience  to  know  the 
particulars  of  this  delicate  intrigue, 
this  cunning  diplomatist  determined 
he  would  pump  the  whole  story  out 
of  Brandon  by  degrees;  and  so,  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour's  conver- 
sation that  the  young  men  had  to- 
gether, Cinqbars  did  not  make  less 
than  forty  allusions  to  the  subject 
that  interested  him.  At  last  Brandon 
cut  him  short  rather  haughtily,  by 
begging  that  he  would  make  no 
further  allusions  to  the  subject,  as  it 
was  one  that  was  excessively  dis 
agreeable  to  hiih. 


$6 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


In  fact  there  was  no  mistake  about 
it  now.  George  Brandon  was  in  love 
with  Caroline.  He  felt  that  he  was 
while  he  blushed  at  his  friend's  allud- 
ing to  her,  while  he  grew  indignant 
at  the  young  lord's  coarse  banter 
about  her. 

Turning  the  conversation  to  another 
point,  he  asked  Cinqbars  about  his 
voyage,  and  whether  he  had  brought 
any  companion  with  him  to  Margate ; 
whereupon  my  Lord  related .  all  his 
feats  in  London,  how  he  had  been  to 
the  watch-house,  how  many  bottles  of 
champagae  he  had  drunk,  how  he 
had  "milled"  a  policeman,  &c.,  &c. ; 
and  he  concluded  by  saying  that  he 
had  come  down  with  Tom  Tufthunt, 
who  was  at  the  inn  at  that  very  mo- 
ment smoking  a  cigar. 

This  did  not  increase  Brandon's 
goo  1-humor ;  and  when  Cinqbars 
mentioned  his  friend's  name,  Brandon 
saluted  it  mentally  with  a  hearty 
curse.  These  two  gentlemen  hated 
each  other  of  old.  Tufthunt  was  a 
small-college  man  of  no  family,  with 
a  foundation  fellowship ;  and  it  used 
to  be  considered  that  a  sporting  fel- 
low of  a  small  college  was  a  sad, 
raffish,  disreputable  character.  Tuft- 
hunt, then,  was  a  vulgar  fellow,  and 
IJrandon  a  gentleman,  so  they  hat- 
ed each  other.  They  were  both 
toadies  of  the  same  nobleman,  so  they 
hated  each  other.  They  had  had  some 
quarrel  at  college  about  a  disputed 
bet,  which  Brandon  knew  he  owed, 
and  so  they  hated  each  other  ;  and 
in  their  words  about  it  Brandon  had 
threaten.'d  to  horsewhip  Tufthunt,  and 
called  him  a  "  sneaking,  swindling, 
small -college  snob";  and  so  little 
Tufthunt,  who  had  not  resented  the 
words,  hated  Brandon  for  more  than 
Brandon  hated  him.  The  latter  only 
had  a  contempt  for  his  rival,  and 
voted  him  a  profound  bore  and  vul- 
garian. 

So,  although  Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not 
choose  to  frequent  Mr.  Brandon's 
rooms,  he  was  very  anxious  that  his 
friend,  the  young  lord,  should  not  fall 
into  his  old  bear-leader's  hands  again. 


and  came  down  to  Margate  to  coun- 
teract any  influence  which  the  arts  of 
Brandon  might  acquire. 

"  Curse  the  fellow  !  "  thought  Tuft- 
hunt in  his  heart  (there  was  a  fine 
reciprocity  of  curses  between  the  two 
men) ;  "  he  has  drawn  Cinqbars  al- 
ready for  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and 
will  have  some  half  of  his  last  remit- 
tance, if  I  don't  keep  a  lookout,  the 
swiniiling  thief!  " 

And  so  frightened  was  Tufthunt 
at  the  notion  of  Brandon's  return  to 
power  and  dishonest  use  of  it,  that  he 
was  at  the  time  on  the  point  of  writ- 
ing to  Lord  Ringwood  to  tell  him  of 
his  son's  doings,  only  he  wanted  some 
money  deucedly  himself.  Of  Mr. 
Tufthunt's  physique  and  history  it  is 
necessary  merely  to  say,  that  he  was 
the  son  of  a  country  attorney  who  was 
agent  to  a  lord  ;  he  had  been  sent  to 
a  foundation-school,  where  he  distin- 
guished hiraselffor  ten  years,  by  fight- 
ing and  being  flogged  more  than  any 
boy  of  the  five  hundred.  From  the 
foundation-school  he  went  to  college 
with  an  exhibition,  which  was  succeed- 
ed by  a  fellowship,  which  was  to  end  ia 
a  living.  In  his  person  Mr.  Tufthunt 
was  short  and  bow-legged  ;  he  wore  a 
sort  of  clerico-sporting  costume  con- 
sisting of  a  black  straight-cut  coat  and 
light  drab  breeches,  with  a  vast  number 
of  buttons  at  the  ankles  ;  a  sort  of 
dress  much  affectioned  by  sporting 
gentlemen  of  the  University  in  the 
author's  time. 

Well,  Brandon  said  he  had  some 
letters  to  write,  and  promised  to  follow 
his  friend,  which  he  did ;  but,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  so  infatuated  was 
the  young  man  become  with  his  pas- 
sion, with  the  resistance  he  had  met 
with,  and  so  nervous  from  the  vari- 
ous occurrences  of  the  morning,  that 
he  parsed  the  half-hour  during  which 
he  was  free  from  Cinqbars's  society  in 
kneeling,  imploring,  weeping  at  Caro- 
line's little  garret-door,  which  had  re- 
mained piteously  closed  to  him.  He 
was  wild  with  disappointment,  morti- 
fication —  mad,  longing  to  see  her. 
The    cleverest  coquette    in    Europe 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


57 


could  not  have  so  inflamed  him. 
His  first  act  on  entering  the  dinner- 
room  was  to  drink  off  a  large  tumbler 
of  champagne ;  and  when  Cinqbars, 
in  his  elegant  way,  began  to  rally  him 
upon  his  wildness,  Mr.  Brandon  only 
growled  and  cursed  with  frightful 
vehemency,  and  applied  again  to  the 
bottle.  His  face,  which  had  been 
quite  white,  grew  a  bright  red ;  his 
tongue,  which  had  been  tied,  began  to 
chatter  vehemently ;  before  the  fish 
was  off  the  table,  Mr.  Brandon 
showed  strong  symptoms  of  intoxica- 
tion :  before  the  dessert  appeared,  Mr. 
Tufthunt,  winking  knowingly  to 
Lord  Cinqbars,  had  begun  to  draw 
him  out ;  and  Brandon,  with  a  num- 
ber of  shrieks  and  oaths,  was  narrat- 
ing the  history  of  his  attachment. 

"  Look  you,  Tufthunt,"  said  he, 
wildly  ;  "  hang  you,  I  hate  you  but  I 
must  talk  !  I  've  been,  for  two  months 
now,  in  this  cursed  hole ;  in  a  rick- 
ety lodging,  with  a  vulgar  family ; 
as  vulgar,  by  Jove,  as  you  are  your- 
self!  " 

Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  like  this  style 
of  address  half  so  much  as  Lord  Cinq- 
bars, who  was  lany;hing  immoderately, 
and  to  whom  Tufthunt  whispered 
rather  sheepishly,  "  Pooh,  pooh,  he  's 
drunk  !  " 

"  Drunk  !  no,  sir,"  yelled  out  Bran- 
don ;  "  I  'm  mad,  though,  with  the 
prudery  of  a  little  devil  of  fifteen,  who 
has  cost  me  more  trouble  than  it 
would  take  me  to  seduce  every  one  of 
your  sisters,  —  ha,  ha  !  every  one  of 
the  Miss  Tufthunts,  by  Jove  !  Miss 
Suky  Tufthunt,  Miss  Dolly  Tufthunt, 
Miss  Anna-Maria  Tufthunt,  and  the 
whole  bunch.  Come,  sir,  don't  sit 
scowling  at  m^,  or  1  '11  brain  you  with 
the  decanter."  (Tufthunt  was  down 
again  on  the  sofa.)  "I  've  borne 
with  the  girl's  mother,  and  her  fa- 
ther, and  her  sisters,  and  a  cook  in  the 
house,  and  a  scoundrel  of  a  painter, 
that  I  'm  going  to  fight  about  her ; 
and  for  what  ?  —  why,  for  a  letter, 
which  says,  '  George,  I  '11  kill  myself ! 
George,  I  '11  kill  myself ! '  —  ha,  ha  ! 
a  little  devil  like  that  killing  herself, 
3* 


—  ha,   ha  !    and   I  —  I    who  —  who 
adore  her,  who  am  mad  for  —  " 

"  Mad  I  believe  he  is,"  said  Tuft- 
hunt ;  and  at  this  moment  Mr.  Bran- 
don was  giving  the  most  unequivocal 
signs  of  madness  ;  he  plunged  his 
head  into  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and 
was  kicking  his  feet  violently  into  the 
cushions. 

"  You  don't  understand  him.  Tufty 
my  boy,"  said  Lord  Cinqbars,  with  a 
very  superior  air.  "  You  ain't  up  to 
these  things,  I  tell  you  ;  and  I  suspect, 
by  Jove,  that  you  never  were  in  love 
in  your  life.  I  know  what  it  is,  sir. 
And  as  for  Brandon,  Heaven  bless 
you  !  I  've  often  seen  him  in  that  way 
when  we  were  abroad.  When  he  has 
an  intrigue,  he  's  mad  about  it.  Let 
me  see,  there  was  the  Countess  Fritzch, 
at  Baden-Baden  ;  there  was  the 
woman  at  Pan  ;  and  that  girl  — 
at  Paris,  was  it  1  —  no,  at  Vienna. 
He  went  on  just  so  about  them  all ; 
but  I  '11  tell  you  what,  when  we  do 
the  thing,  we  do  it  easier,  my  boy, 
hay  1  " 

And  so  saying,  my  Lord  cocked  up 
his  little  sallow,  beardless  face  into  a 
grin,  and  then  fell  to  eying  a  glass 
of  execrable  claret  across  a  candle. 
An  intrigue,  as  he  called  it,  was  the 
little  creature's  delight  ;  and  until 
the  time  should  arrive  when  he  could - 
have  one  himself,  he  loved  to  talk  of 
those  of  his  friends. 

As  for  Tufthunt,  we  may  fancy 
how  that  gentleman's  previous  affec- 
tion for  Brandon  was  increased  by 
the  latter's  brutal  addresses  to  him. 
Brandon  continued  to  drink  and  to 
talk,  though  not  always  in  the  senti- 
mental M^ay  in  which  he  had  spoken 
about  his  loves  and  injuries.  Grow- 
ing presently  madly  jocose  as  he  had 
before  been  madly  melancholy,  he 
narrated  to  the  two  gentlemen  the 
particulars  of  his  quarrel  with  Fitch, 
mimicking  the  little  painter's  man- 
ner in  an  excessively  comic  way,  and 
giving  the  most  ludicrous  account  ot 
his  person,  kept  his  companions  in  a 
roar  of  laughter.  Cinqbars  swore 
that   he  would  see  the  fun  in   the 


58 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOBY. 


morning:,  and  agreed  that  if  the  paint- 
er wanted  a  second,  either  he  or  Tuft- 
hunt  would  act  for  him. 

Now  my  Lord  Cinqbars  had  an 
excessively  clever  servant,  a  merry 
rogue,  whom  he  had  discovered  in 
the  humble  capacity  of  scout's  assist- 
ant at  Christchurch,  and  raised  to  be 
his  valet.  The  chief  duties  of  the 
valet  were  to  black  his  lord's  beauti- 
ful boots,  that  we  have  admired  so 
much,  and  put  his  Lordship  to  bed 
when  overtaken  with  liquor.  He 
heard  every  word  of  the  young  men's 
talk  ( it  being  his  habit,  much  encour- 
aged by  his  master,  to  join  occasion- 
ally in  the  conversation)  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  when  at  supper 
with  Monsieur  Donnerwetter  and 
Mdlle.  Augustine,  he  related  every 
word  of  the  talk  above  stairs,  mimick- 
ing Brandon  quite  as  cleverly  as  the 
latter  had  mimicked  Fitch.  When 
then,  after  making  his  company  laugh 
by .  .escribing  Brandon's  love-agonies. 
Air.  Tom  informed  them  how  that 
gentleman  had  a  rival,  with  whom  he 
was  going  to  fight  a  duel  the  next 
morning,  —  an  artist-fellow  with  an 
immense  beard,  whose  name  was 
Fitch,  to  his  surprise  Mdlle.  Augus- 
tine burst  into  a  scream  of  laughter, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Feesh,  Feesh !  c'est 
notre  homme ;  —  it  is  our  man,  sare  ! 
Saladin,  remember  you  Mr.  Fish  ?  " 

Saladin  said  gravel}',  "  Missa  Fis, 
Missa  Fis  !  know  'um  quite  well, 
Missa  Fis  !  , Painter-man,  big  beard, 
gib  Saladin  bit  injy-rubby.  Missis  lub 
Missa  Fis  !  " 

It  was  too  true,  the  fat  lady  was  the 
famous  Mrs.  Carrickfergus,  and 
she  had  come  all  the  way  from  Rome 
in  pursuit  of  her  adored  painter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHICH  THREATENS  DEATH,  BUT  COX- 
TAINS  A  GREAT  DEAL  OF  MARRT- 
IXG. 

As  the  morrow  was  to  be  an  event- 
ful day  in  the  lives  of  all  the  heroes 


and  heroines  of  this  historj-,  it  will 
be  as  well  to  state  how  they  passed 
the  night  previous.  Brandon,  like 
the  English  before  the  battle  of  Hast- 
ings, spent  the  evening  in  feasting 
and  carousing ;  and  Lord  Cinqbars, 
at  twelve  o'clock,  his  usual  time  after 
his  usual  quantity  of  drink,  was  car- 
ried up  to  bed  by  the  senant  kept  by 
his  Lordship  for  that  purpose.  Mr. 
Tufthunt  took  this  as  a  hint  to  wish 
Brandon  good  night,  at  the  same 
time  promising  that  he  and  Cinqbars 
would  not  fail  him  in  the  morning 
about  the  duel. 

Shall  we  confess  that  Mr.  Bran- 
don, whose  excitement  now  began  to 
wear  off,  and  who  had  a  dreadful 
headache,  did  not  at  all  relish  the  idea 
of  the  morrow's  combat  ? 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  I  shoot  this  crack- 
brained  painter,  all  the  world  will  cry 
out,  '  Murder ! '  If  he  shoot  me,  aU 
the  world  will  laugh  at  me !  And 
yet,  confound  him  !  he  seems  so  bent 
upon  blood,  that  there  is  no  escaping 
a  meeting." 

"  At  any  rate,"  Brandon  thought, 
"  there  will  be  no  harm  in  a  letter  to 
Caroline."  So,  on  arriving  at  home, 
he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  very  pathetic 
one ;  saying  that  he  fought  in  her 
cause,  and  if  he  died,  his  last  breath 
should  be  for  her.  So  having  written, 
he  jumped  into  bed,  and  did  not  sleep 
one  single  wink  all  night. 

As  Brandon  passed  his  night  like 
the  English,  Fitch  went  through  his 
like  the  Normans,  in  fasting,  and 
mortification,  and  meditation.  The 
poor  fellow  likewise  indited  a  letter 
to  Caroline :  a  very  long  and  strong 
one,  interspersed  with  pieces  of  poetry, 
and  containing  the  words  we  have 
just  heard  him  utter  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Then  he  thought  about  making 
his  will :  but  he  recollected,  and,  in- 
deed, it  was  a  bitter  thought  to  the 
young  man,  that  there  was  not  one 
single  soul  in  the  wide  world  who 
cared  for  him,  —  except,  indeed, 
thought  he,  after  a  pause,  that  poor 
Mrs.  Carrickfergus  at  Rome,  who  did 
like  me,  and  was  the  only  person  who 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 


59 


ever  bought  my  drawings.  So  he 
made  over  all  his  sketches  to  her,  reg- 
ulated his  little  property,  found  that 
he  had  money  enough  to  pay  his 
washerwoman ;  and  so,  havmg  dis- 
posed of  his  worldly  concerns,  Mr. 
Fitch  also  jumped  into  bed,  and 
speedily  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 
Brandon  could  hear  him  snoring  all 
night,  and  did  not  feel  a  bit  the  more 
comfortable  because  his  antagonist 
took  matters  so  unconcernedly. 

Indeed,  our  poor  painter  had  no 
guilty  thoughts  in  his  breast,  nor  any 
particular  revenge  against  Brandon, 
now  that  the  first  pangs  of  mortified 
vanit}'^  were  over.  But,  with  all  his 
vagaries,  he  was  a  man  of  spirit ;  and 
after  what  had  passed  in  the  morning, 
the  treason  that  had  been  done  him, 
and  the  insults  heaped  upon  him,  he 
felt  that  the  duel  was  irrevocable. 
He  had  a  misty  notion,  imbibed  some- 
where, that  it  was  the  part  of  a  gen- 
tleman's duty  to  fight  duels,  and  had 
long  been  seeking  for  an  opportunity. 
"  Suppose  I  do  die,"  said  he, 
"  what 's  the  odds  ?  Caroline  does  n't 
care  for  me.  Dr.  Wackerbart's  boys 
won't  have  their  drawing-lesson  next 
Wednesday ;  and  no  more  will  be 
said  of  poor  Andrea." 

And  now  for  the  garret.  Caroline 
was  wrapped  up  in  her  own  woes, 
poor  little  soul !  and  in  the  arms  of 
the  faithful  Becky  cried  herself  to 
sleep.  But  the  slow  hours  passed  on  ; 
and  the  tide,  which  had  been  out, 
now  came  in  ;  and  the  lamps  waxed 
fainter  and  fainter;  and  the  watch- 
man cried  six  o'clock ;  and  the  sun 
arose  and  gilded  the  minarets  of  Mar- 
gate ;  and  Becky  got  up  and  scoured 
the  steps,  and  the  kitchen,  and  made 
ready  the  lodgers'  breakfasts ;  and  at 
half  past  eight  there  came  a  thundering 
rap  at  the  door,  and  two  gentlemen, 
one  with  a  mahogany  case  under  his 
arm,  asked  for  Mr.  Brandon,  and  were 
sliown  up  to  his  room  by  the  aston- 
ished Becky,  who  was  bidden  by  Mr. 
Brandon  to  get  breakfast  for  three. 

The  thundering  rap  awakened  Mr. 
Fitch,  who  rose  and  dressed  himself 


in  his  best  clothes,  gave  a  twist  of 
the  curling-tongs  to  his  beard,  and 
conducted  himself  throughout  with 
perfect  coolness.  Nine  o'clock  struck, 
and  he  wrapped  his  cloak  round  him, 
and  put  under  his  cloak  that  pair  of 
foils  which  we  have  said  he  possessed, 
and  did  not  know  in  the  least  how  to 
use.  However,  he  had  heard  his  cam- 
arades  d'atdier,  at  Paris  and  Rome, 
say  that  they  were  the  best  weapons 
for  duelling ;  and  so  forth  he  issued. 

Becky  was  in  the  passage  as  he 
passed  down  ;  she  was  always  scrub- 
bing there.  "  Becky,"  said  Fitch,  in 
a  hollow  voice,  "  here  is  a  letter ;  if  I 
should  not  return  in  half  an  hour, 
give  it  to  Miss  Gann,  and  promise  on 
your  honor  that  she  shall  not  have  it 
sooner."  Becky  promised.  She 
thought  the  painter  was  at  some  of 
his  mad  tricks.  He  went  out  of  the 
door  saluting  her  gravely. 

But  he  went  only  a  few  steps  and 
came  back  again.  "  Becky,"  said  he, 
"you  —  you've  always  been  a  good 
girl  to  me,  and  here  's  something  for 
you  ;  per'aps  we  sha'  n't  —  we  sha'  n't 
see  each  other  for  some  time."  The 
tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,' 
and  he  handed  her  over  seven  shillings 
and  fourpence  halfpenny,  being  every 
farthing  he  possessed  in  the  world. 

"  Well,  I 'm  sure !  "  said  Becky ; 
and  that  was  all  she  said,  for  she 
pocketed  the  money,  and  fell  to 
scrubbing  again. 

Presently  the  three  gentlemen  up 
stairs  came  clattering  down.  "  Lock 
bless  you,  don't  be  in  such  a  'urry  !  " 
exclaimed  Becky;  "it's  full  herly 
yet,  and  the  water 's  not  biling." 

"  We  '11  come  back  to  breakfast,  my 
dear,"  said  one,  a  little  gentleman  in 
high-heeled  boots ;  "  and,  I  thay, 
mind  and  have  thum  thoda-water." 
And  he  walked  out,  twirling  his  cane. 
His  friend  with  the  case  followed  him. 
Mr.  Brandon  came  last. 

He  too  turned  back  after  he  had 
gone  a  few  paces.  "  Becky,"  said  he, 
in  a  grave  voice,  "  if  I  am  not  back  in 
half  an  hour,  give  that  to  Miss  Gann." 

Becky  was  fairly  flustered  by  thi»| 


60 


A  SHABBY  GEXTEEL   STORY. 


and  after  taming  the  letters  round  and 
round,  and  peeping  into  the  sides,  and 
looking  at  the  seals  very  hard,  she  like 
a  fool  determined  that  she  would  not 
wait  half  an  hour,  but  carry  them  up 
to  Miss  Caroline ;  and  so  she  mounted, 
finding  pretty  Caroline  in  the  act  of 
lacing  her  stays. 

And  the  consequences  of  Becky's 
conduct  was  that  little  Carry  left  off 
hieing  her  stays  (a  sweet  little  figure 
the  poor  thing  looked  in  them ;  but 
that  is  neither  here  nor  there),  took 
the  letters,  looked  at  one  which  she 
threw  down  directly;  at  the  other, 
which  she  eagerly  opened,  and  having 
read  a  line  or  two,  gave  a  loud  scream, 
and  fell  down  dead  in  a  fainting  fit ! 
*  *  *  *  * 

"Waft  us,  O  Muse !  to  Mr.  Wright's 
hotel,  and  quick  narrate  what  chances 
there  befell.  Very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing Mdlle.  Augustine  made  her  ap- 
pearance in  the  apartment  of  Miss 
Kunt,  and  with  great  glee  informed 
that  lady  of  the  event  which  was  about 
to  take  place.  "  Figurez-vous,  mad- 
emoiselle, que  notre  homme  va  se 
battre  —  O,  but  it  will  be  droll  to  see 
him  sword  in  hand ! " 

"  Don't  plague  me  with  your  ojous 
servants'  quarrels,  Augustine;  that 
horrid  courier  is  always  quarrelling 
and  tipsy." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  qn'elle  est  bete! "  ex- 
claimed Augustine  :  "  but  I  tell  you  it 
is  not  the  courier ;  it  is  he,  I'objet,  le 
peintre  dont  madame  s'est  amoura- 
chee,  Monsieur  Feesh." 

"  Mr.  Fitch  ! "  cried  Runt,  jumping 
up  in  bed.  "  Mr.  Fitch  going  to  fight ! 
Augustine,  my  stockings  —  quick,  my 
fo'je-de<hambre  —  tell  me  when,  how, 
where  i " 

And  so  Augustine  told  her  that  the 
combat  was  to  take  place  at  nine  that 
morning,  behind  the  Windmill,  and 
that  the  gentleman  with  whom  Mr.  i 
Fitch  was  to  go  out,  had  been  dining  ' 
at    the  hotel  the  night    previous,  in  ; 
company  with  t!ic  little   milor,  who  | 
was  to  he  his  second.  j 

Quick    as  lightning  flew  Runt    to  I 
the  chamber  of  her  patroness.      That : 


[  lady  was  in  a  profound  sleep  ;  and  I 
leave  you  to  imagine  what  were  her 
sensations  on  awaking  and  hearing 
this  dreadful  tale. 

Such  is  the  Ibrce  of  love,  that  al- 
though, lor  many  years,  Mrs.  Carrick- 
fergus  had  never  left  her  bed  before 
noon,  although  in  all  her  wild  wan- 
derings after  the  painter  she,  never- 
theless, would  have  her  tea  and  cut- 
let in  bed,  and  her  dose  likewise,  be- 
fore she  set  forth  on  a  journey', —  she 
now  started  up  in  an  instant,  forget- 
ting her  nap,  mutton-chops,  every- 
thing, and  began  dressmg  with 
a  promptitude  which  can  only  be 
equalled  by  Harlequin  when  disguis- 
ing himself  in  a  pantomime,  dhe 
would  have  had  an  attack  of  neves, 
only  she  knew  there  was  no  time  for 
it ;  and  I  do  believe  that  twenty  min- 
utes were  scarcely  over  her  head,  as 
the  saying  is,  when  her  bonnet  and 
cloak  were  on,  and  with  her  whole 
suite,  and  an  inn-waiter  or  two  v/hom 
she  pressed  into  her  service,  she  was 
on  full  trot  to  the  field  of  action.  For 
twenty  years  before,  and  from  that 
day  to  this,  Marianne  Carrickfergus 
never  had  or  has  walked  so  quickly. 
***** 

"  Hullo,  here  'th  a  go  ! "  exclaimed 
Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  as  they  ar- 
rived on  the  ground  behind  the  Wind- 
mill ;  "  cuth  me  there  'th  only  one 
man !  " 

This  was  indeed  the  case;  Mr.  Fitch, 
in  his  great  cloak,  was  pacing  slowly 
up  and  down  the  grass,  his  shadow 
stretching  far  in  the  sunshine.  Mr. 
Fitch  was  alone  too ;  for  the  fact  is, 
he  had  never  thought  about  a  second. 
This  he  admitted  frankly,  bowing 
with  much  majesty  to  the  company 
as  they  came  up.  "  But  that,  gents," 
said  he,  "  will  make  no  difference, 
I  hope,  nor  prevent  fair  play  from  be- 
ing done."  And,  flinging  off  his 
clo'ik,  he  produced  the  foils,  from 
which  the  buttons  had  been  taken  off. 
He  went  up  to  Brandon,  anil  was  for 
offering  him  one  of  the  weapons,  just 
as  they  do  at  the  theatre.  Brandon 
stepped  back,  rather  abashed :  Cing- 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL  STORY. 


61 


bars  looked  posed;  Tufthunt  delighted. 
"  Ecod,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  the  bearded 
fellow  will  give  it  him." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bran- 
don ;  "  as  the  challenged  party,  I  de- 
mand pistols." 

Mr.  Fitch,  with  great  presence  of 
mind  and  gracefulness,  stuck  the 
swords  into  the  grass. 

"  O,  pithtolth  of  courth,"  lisped  my 
Lord ;  and  presently  called  aside 
Tufthunt,  to  whom  he  whispered 
something  in  great  glee;  to  which 
Tufthunt    objected    at  first,    saying, 

"No,    d him,    let    him    fight." 

"And  your  fellowship  and  living. 
Tufty  my  boy  ?  "  interposed  my  Lord  ; 
and  then  they  walked  on.  After  a 
couple  of  minutes,  during  which  Mr. 
Fitch  was  employed  in  examining  Mr. 
Brandon  from  the  toe  upwards  to  the 
crown  of  his  head,  or  hat,  just  as  Mr. 
Widdicombe  does  Mr.  Cartlich,  before 
those  two  gentlemen  proceed  to  join 
in  combat  on  the  boards  of  Astley's 
Amphitheatre  (indeed  poor  Fitch  had 
no  other  standard  of  chivalry), — when 
Fitch  had  concluded  this  examination, 
of  which  Brandon  did  not  know  what 
the  deuce  to  make.  Lord  Cinqbars 
came  back  to  the  painter,  and  gave 
him  a  nod. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  come 
unprovided  with  a  second,  I,  with 
your  leave,  will  act  as  one.  My  name 
IS  Cinqbars  —  Lord  Cinqbars;  and 
though  I  had  come  to  the  ground  to 
act  as  the  friend  of  my  friend  here, 
Mr.  Tufthunt  will  take  that  duty 
upon  him;  and  as  it  appears  to  me 
there  can  be  no  other  end  to  this  un- 
happy affair,  we  will  proceed  at 
once." 

It  is  a  marvel  how  Lord  Cinqbars 
ever  made  such  a  gentlemanly  speech. 
When  Fitch  heard  that  he  was  to 
have  a  lord  for  a  second,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  chest,  and  vowed  it  was 
the  greatest  h-honor  of  his  life ;  and 
was  turning  round  to  walk  towards 
his  ground,  when  my  Lord,  gracefully 
thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek, 
and  bringing  his  thumb  up  to  his 
nose,  twiddled  about  his  finders  for  a 


moment,  and  said  to  Brandon,  "  Gam- 
mon ! " 

Mr.  Brandon  smiled,  and  heaved  a 
great,  deep,  refreshing  sigh.  The 
truth  was,  a  load  was  taken  off  his 
mind,  of  which  he  was  very  glad  to 
be  rid ;  for  there  was  something  in 
the  coolness  of  that  crazy  painter  that 
our  fashionable  gentleman  did  not  at 
all  approve  of. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tufthunt,"  said 
Lord  Cinqbars,  very  loud,  "  that  con- 
sidering the  gravity  of  the  case,  — 
threatening  horsewhipping,  you  know, 
lie  on  both  sides,  and  lady  in  the  case, 
—  I  think  we  must  have  the  barrier- 
duel." 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  asked  Fitch. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world ; 
and,"  in  a  whisper,  "  let  me  add,  the 
best  for  you.  Look  here.  We  shall 
put  you  at  twenty  paces,  and  a  hat 
between  you.  You  walk  forward  and 
fire  when  you  like.  When  you  fire, 
you  stop ;  and  you  both  have  the  lib- 
erty of  walking  up  to  the  hat.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  fair  than  that." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Fitch ;  and, 
with  a  great  deal  of  preparation,  the 
pistols  were  loaded. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  whispered  Cinq- 
bars to  Fitch,  "  if  I  had  n't  chosen 
this  way  you  were  a  dead  man.  If 
he  fires  he  hits  you  dead.  You  must 
not  let  him  fire,  but  have  him  down 
first." 

"  I  '11  try,"  said  Fitch,  who  was  a 
little  pale,  and  thanked  his  noble 
friend  for  his  counsel.  The  hat  was 
placed  and  the  men  took  their  places. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  1 " 

"  Ready,"  said  Brandon. 

"Advance  when  I  drop  my  hand- 
kerchief." And  presently  down  it 
fell,  Lord  Cinqbars  crying,  "  Now ! " 

The  combatants  both  advanced, 
each  covering  his  man.  When  he 
had  gone  about  six  paces,  Fitch 
stopped,  fired,  and  —  missed.  Ho 
grasped  his  pistol  tightly,  for  he  was 
very  near  dropping  it ;  and  then  stood 
biting  his  li])s,  and  looking  nt  Bran- 
don, who  grinned  savagely,  and 
[  walked  up  to  the  hat. 


u 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


not  know  what  banns  meant,  was 
married  in  a  manner  to  the  person 
calling  himself  George  Brandon  ; 
George  Brandon  not  being  his  real 
name. 

No  writings  at  all  were  made,  and 
the  ceremony  merely  read  through. 
Becky,  Caroline's  sole  guardian,  when 
the  poor  girl  kissed  her,  and,  blushing, 
showed  her  gold  ring,  thought  all 
was  in  order ;  and  the  happy  couple 
set  off  for  Dover  that  day,  with  fifty 
pounds  which  Cinqbars  lent  the  bride- 
groom. 

Becky  received  a  little  letter  from 
Caroline,  which  she  promised  to  car- 
ry to  her  mamma  at  Swigby's ;  and  it 
was  agreed  that  she  was  to  give  warn- 
infr,  and  come  and  live  with  her  young 
lady.  Next  morning  Lord  Cinqbars 
and  Tufthunt  took  the  boat  for  Lon- 
don ;  the  latter  uneasy  in  mind,  the 
former  vowing  that "  he  'd  never  spent 
such  an  exciting  daj'  in  his  life,  and 
loved  an  intrigue  of  all  things." 

Next  morning,  too,  the  great  travel- 
ling chariot  of  Mrs.  Carrickfergus 
rolled  away  with  a  bearded  gentle- 
man inside.  Poor  Fitch  had  been 
back  to  his  lodgings  to  try  one  more 
chance  with  Caroline,  and  he  arrived 
in  time  —  to  see  her  get  into  a  post- 
chaise  alone  with  Brandon. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  Galignani's 
Messenger  contained  the  following 
announcement :  — 

"  Married,  at  the  British  embassy, 
by  Bishop  Luscombe,  Andrew  Fitch, 
Esq.,  to  Marianne  Caroline  Matilda, 
widow  of  the  late  Antony  Carrickfer- 
gus, of  Lombard  Street  and  Glouces- 
ter Place,  Esquire.  The  happy  pair, 
after  a  magnificent  dejeun^,  set  off 
for  the  south  in  their  splendid  carriage- 
aiul-four.  Miss  Runt  officiated  as 
bridesmaid  ;  and  we  remarked  among 
tlie  company  Earl  and  Countess 
Crabs,  General  Sir  Rice  Curry,  K.  C. 
B.,  Colonel  Wapshot,  Sir  Charles 
Swang,  the  Hon.  Algernon  Percy 
Deuceace  and  his  lady,  Count  Pun- 
ter, and  others  of  the  ^Ite  of  the 
fashionables    now    in    Paris.      The 


bridegroom  Was  attended  by  his  friend 
Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh,  Esquire; 
and  the  lady  was  given  away  by  the 
Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of  Crabs.  On 
the  departure  of  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom the  festivities  were  resumed, 
and  many  a  sparkling  bumper  of 
Meurice's  champagne  was  quaffed  to 
the  health  of  the  hospitable  and  inter- 
esting  couple." 

And  with  one  more  marriage  this 
chapter  shall  conclude.  About  this 
time  the  British  Auxiliary  Legion 
came  home  from  Spain ;  and  Lieut.- 
General  Swabber,  a  knight  of  San 
Fernando,  of  the  order  of  Isabella  the 
Catholic,  of  the  Tower  and  Sword, 
who,  as  plain  Lieutenant  Swabber, 
had  loved  Miss  Isabella  Macarty,  as  a 
general  now  actually  married  her.  I 
leave  you  to  suppose  how  glorious 
Mrs.  Gann  was,  and  how  Gann  got  tip- 
sy at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  " ;  but  as  her 
daughters  each  insisted  on  their  £30 
a  year  income,  and  Mrs.  Gann  had  so 
only  £60  left,  she  was  obliged  still 
to  continue  the  lodging-house  at  Mar- 
gate, in  which  have  occurred  the  most 
interesting  passages  of  this  shabby 

GEXTEEL  STORY. 

Becky  never  went  to  her  young 
mistress,  who  was  not  heard  of  after 
she  wrote  the  letter  to  her  parent,  say- 
ing that  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Bran- 
don ;  but,  for  pai-ticular  reasons,  her 
dear  husband  wished  to  keep  his  mar- 
riage secret,  and  for  the  present  her 
beloved  parents  must  be  content  to 
know  she  was  happy.  Gann  missed 
his  little  Carry  at  first  a  goo<l  deal, 
but  spent  more  and  more  of  his  time 
at  the  ale-house,  as  his  house  with 
only  Mrs.  Gann  in  it  was  too  hot  for 
him.  Mrs.  Gann  talked  unceasingly 
of  her  daughter  the  squire's  lady,  and 
her  daughter  the  general's  wife  ;  but 
never  once  mentioned  Caroline  after 
the  first  burst  of  wonder  and  wrath  at 
her  departure. 

God  bless  thee,  poor  Caroline ! 
Thou  art  happy  now,  for  some  short 
space  at  least ;  and  here,  therefore,  let 
us  leave  thee. 


THE 


ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD, 


WHO  BOBBED  HIM,  WHO  HELPED  HIM,  AOT)  WHO 
PASSED  HIM  BY. 


TO 


M.    I.    HIGGINS, 


IN  ORAIEFUI.  BEMEUBKANCE   OF  OLD   FRIENDSHIP  AND  KINDNIU. 


EnranGTOH,  July,  186X 


f-  ■-• 


*ut>!<fviijt  mcA  •iijiaflsiJiKa  «uo  mo  aoisArtMu-sKxa 


.t.v;  ■. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR    FELL. 

»<"|^rOT  attend  her  own  son  when  he 

J^  is  ill ! "  said  my  mother.  "  She 
doe&  not  deserve  to  have  a  son  !  "  And 
Mrs.  Pendennis  looked  towards  her 
own  only  darling  whilst  uttering  this 
indignant  exclamation.  As  she  look- 
ed, I  know  what  passed  through  her 
mind.  She  nursed  me,  she  dressed 
me  in  little  caps  and  long-clothes,  she 
attired  me  in  my  first  jacket  and 
trousers.  She  watched  at  my  bed- 
side through  my  infantile  and  juvenile 
ailments.  She  tended  me  through  all 
my  life,  she  held  me  to  her  heart  with 
infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is 
no  longer  with  us  to  bless  and  pray  ; 
but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I  know 
her  love  pursues  me ;  and  often  and 
often  I  think  she  is  here,  only  in- 
visible. 

"  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no 
good,"  growled  Dr.  Goodenough. 
"  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the 
nurse  would  have  two  patients  to  look 
after." 

"  Don't  tell  me"  cries  my  mother, 
with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks.  "Do  you 
sup]X)se  if  that  child"  (meaning,  of 
course,  her  paragon)  "were  ill,  I 
would  not  go  to  him  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry, 
you  would  chop  off  your  head  to  make 
him  broth,"  says  the  Doctor,  sipping 
his  tea. 

"  Potarjp  a  la  honnr  femm","  says 
Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother,  we  have 
it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done 
with  milk,  eggs,  and  a  quantity  of 


vegetables.  You  would  be  put  to 
simmer  for  many  hours  in  an  earthen 
pan,  and  — " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur ! "  cries 
a  young  lady,  who  was  my  mother's 
companion  of  those  happy  days. 

"  And  people  when  they  knew  you 
would  like  you  very  much." 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not 
understand  the  allegory. 

"  What  is  this  you  are  talking 
about  ?  potage  a  la  —  what-d'ye-call- 
'im  1  "  says  he.  "  I  thought  we  were 
speaking  of  Mrs.  Firmin,  of  Old  Pan- 
Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  deli- 
cate woman,"  interposed  the  Major. 
"  All  the  females  of  that  family  are. 
Her  mother  died  early.  Her  sister, 
Mrs.  Twysden,  is  very  delicate.  She 
would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick- 
room than  a  —  than  a  bull  in  a  china- 
shop,  begad  !  and  she  might  catch  the 
fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you.  Major !  "  cries 
the  Doctor.  "  Are  n't  you  talking  to 
me,  who  have  just  come  from  the 
boy  ?  Keep  your  distance,  or  I  shall 
bite  you." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little 
backward  movement  with  his  chair. 

"  Gad,  it 's  no  joking  matter,"  says 
he ;  "I  've  known  fellows  catch  fevers 
at  —  at  ever  so  much  past  my  age. 
At  any  rate,  the  boy  is  no  boy  of 
mine,  begad  !  I  dine  at  Firmin's 
house,  who  has  married  into  a  good 
family,  though  he  is  only  a  doctor, 
and  —  " 

"  And  pray  what  was  my  hus- 
band f  "  cried  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"  Only  a  doctor,  indeed ! "  calls  out 


R^aviOZSii  tTKA  1111'^! 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHIUP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR    FELL. 

<<"]^rOT  attend  her  own  son  when  he 

j^  is  ill ! "  said  my  mother.  "  She 
does  not  deserve  to  have  a  son  !  "  And 
Mrs.  Pendennis  looked  towards  her 
own  only  darling  whilst  uttering  this 
indignant  exclamation.  As  she  look- 
ed, I  know  what  passed  through  her 
mind.  She  nursed  me,  she  dressed 
me  in  little  caps  and  long-clothes,  she 
attired  me  in  my  first  jacket  and 
trousers.  She  watched  at  my  bed- 
side through  my  infantile  and  juvenile 
ailments.  She  tended  me  through  all 
my  life,  she  held  mc  to  her  heai't  with 
infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is 
no  longer  with  ns  to  bless  and  pray  ; 
but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I  know 
her  love  pursues  me ;  and  often  and 
often  I  think  she  is  here,  only  in- 
visible. 

"  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no 
good,"  growled  Dr.  Goodenough. 
"  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the 
nurse  would  have  two  patients  to  look 
after." 

"  Don't  tell  me"  cries  my  mother, 
with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks.  "  Do  you 
suppose  if  that  child  "  (meaning,  of 
course,  her  paragon)  "were  ill,  I 
would  not  go  to  him  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry, 
you  would  chop  off  your  head  to  make 
him  broth,"  says  the  Doctor,  sipping 
his  tea. 

"  Potarjp  a  Ja  honnr  femm<',"  says 
Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother,  we  have 
it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done 
with  milk,  eggs,  and   a  quantity  of 


vegetables.  You  would  be  put  to 
simmer  for  many  hours  in  an  earthen 
pan,  and  — " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur ! "  cries 
a  young  lady,  who  was  my  mother's 
companion  of  those  happy  days. 

"  And  people  when  they  knew  you 
would  like  you  very  much." 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not 
understand  the  allegory. 

'■  What  is  this  you  are  talking 
about  ?  potuge  a  la  —  what-d'ye-call- 
'im  ?  "  says  he.  "  I  thought  we  were 
speaking  of  Mrs.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr 
Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  deli- 
cate woman,"  interposed  the  Major. 
"  All  the  females  of  that  family  are. 
Her  mother  died  early.  Her  sister, 
Mrs.  Twysden,  is  very  delicate.  She 
would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick- 
room than  a  —  than  a  bull  in  a  china- 
shop,  begad  !  and  she  might  catch  the 
fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you,  Major !  "  cries 
the  Doctor.  "  Are  n't  you  talking  to 
me,  who  haA'e  just  come  from  the 
boy  1  Keep  your  distance,  or  I  shall 
bite  you." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little 
backward  movement  with  his  chair. 

"  Gad,  it 's  no  joking  matter,"  says 
he ;  "I  've  known  fellows  catch  fevers 
at  —  at  ever  so  much  past  my  age. 
At  any  rate,  the  boy  is  no  boy  of 
jnine,  begad  !  I  dine  at  Finniii's 
house,  who  has  married  into  a  good 
family,  though  he  is  only  a  doctor, 
and  —  " 

"  And  pray  what  was  my  hus- 
band ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"  Only  a  doctor,  indeed ! "  calls  out 


T2 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


there  was  one  member  of  the  auditory 
scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gen- 
tleman whispered  to  his  comrade  at 
the  commencement  of  the  phrase  con- 
cerning the  Doctor  the,  I  believe 
of  Eastern  derivation,  monosyllable 
"  Bosh !  "  and  he  added  sadly,  look- 
ing towards  the  object  of  all  his  praise, 
"  He  can't  construe  the  Latin,  — 
though  it  is  all  a  parcel  of  humbug." 

"  Hush,  Phil !  said  his  friend , 
and  Phil's  face  flushed  red,  as  Dr. 
Pirmin,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  looked  at 
him  for  one  moment ;  for  the  recipient 
of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other  thaa 
Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had 
long  since  passed  away.  Philip  was 
a  school-boy  no  longer,  but  in  his  sec- 
ond year  at  the  University,  and  one 
of  half  a  dozen  young  men,  ex-pupils 
of  the  school,  who  had  come  up  for 
the  annual  dinner.  The  honors  of 
this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firmin, 
even  more  than  for  Lord  Ascot  in  his 
star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his 
arm  in  the  Doctor's  into  chapel. 
His  Lordship  faltered  when,  in  his  af- 
ter-dinner speech,  he  alluded  to  the 
inestimable  services  and  skill  of  his 
tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known 
as  a  fellow-pupil  in  those  walls  — 
(loud  cheers),  —  whose  friendship  had  j 
been  the  delight  of  his  life,  —  a  friend- 
ship which  he  prayed  might  be  the  i 
inheritance  of  their  children.  (Im- 
mense applause ;  after  which  Dr.  Fir- 
min spoke.) 

The  Doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  I 
little  commonplace  ;  the  Latin  quota-  | 
tions  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  | 
novel ;  but  Phil  need  not  have  been 
so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went  on 
sipping  sherry,  glaring  at  his  father, 
and  muttering  observations  that  were 
anything  but  comjJliraentary  to  his 
parent.  "  Now  look,"  says  he,  "  he  is 
going  to  be  overcome  by  his  f.clings. 
He  will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his 
mouth,  and  show  his  diamond  ring. 
I  tol  I  you  so  !  It 's  too  much.  I 
can't  swallow  this  .  .  .  this  sherry. 
I  say,  you  fellows,  let  us  come  out  of 
this,  and  have  a  smoke  somewhere."  { 


And  Phil  rose  up  and  quitted  the  din. 
ing-room,  just  as  his  father  was  de- 
claring what  a  joy,  and  a  pride,  and  a 
delight  it  was  to  him  to  think  that  the 
friendship  with  which  his  noble  friend 
honored  him  was  likely  to  l)e  trans- 
mitted to  their  children,  and  that 
when  he  had  passed  away  from  this 
earthly  scene  (cries  of  "  No,  no !  " 
"  May  you  live  a  thousand  years  ! ") 
it  would  be  his  joy  to  think  that  his 
son  would  always  find  a  friend  and 
protector  in  the  noble,  the  princely 
house  of  Ascot 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  out- 
side Greyfriars'  Gate,  and  Philip  Fir- 
min, pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told 
the  footman  to  drive  home,  and  that 
the  Doctor  would  return  in  Lord  As- 
cot's carriage.  Home  then  to  Old 
Parr  Street  we  went,  where  many  a 
time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome. 
And  we  retired  to  Phil's  private  den 
in  the  back  buildings  of  the  great 
house  :  and  over  our  cigars  we  talked 
of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the 
speeches  delivered ;  and  of  the  old  Cis- 
tercians of  our  time,  and  how  Thomp- 
son was  married,  and  Johnson  was  in 
the  army,  and  Jackson  (not  red-haired 
Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson)  was  first 
in  his  year,  and  so  forth  ;  and  in  this 
twaddle  were  most  happily  engaged, 
when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the  tall 
door  of  the  study. 

"  Here  's  the  governor ! "  growled 
Phil ;  and  in  an  undertone,  "  What 
does  he  want  ?  " 

"  The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up, 
was  not  a  pleasant  object  to  behold. 
Dr.  Firmin  had  very  white  false  teeth, 
which  perhaps  were  a  little  too  large 
for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned  in 
the  gaslight  very  fiercely.  On  his 
cheeks  were  black  whiskers,  and  over 
his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows, 
and  his  bald  head  glittered  like  a 
billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  he  was  the  original  of  that 
melancholy  philosophic  portrait 
which  all  the  patients  admired  in  the 
Doctor's  waiting-room. 

"  I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my 
carriage,"    said    the    father ;    "  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


73 


Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever 
BO  far  for  a  cab  ! " 

"  Had  n't  he  got  his  own  carriag^e  ^ 
I  thought  of  course  he  would  have  his 
carriage  on  a  State-day,  and  tliat 
you  would  come  home  with  the 
lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  promised  to  bring  him 
home,  sir  !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  con- 
tinued the  son,  curtly. 

"  Sorry  !  "  screams  the  other. 

"  I  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  and  I 
am  very  sorry,"  answers  Phil ;  and 
he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into 
the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house 
hardly  knew  how  to  look  on  its  master 
or  his  son.  There  was  evidently 
some  dire  quarrel  between  them. 
The  old  man  glared  at  the  young 
one,  who  calmly  looked  his  father  in 
the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate 
seemed  to  flash  from  the  Doctor's 
eyes,  and  anon  came  a  look  of  wild 
pitiful  supplication  towards  the  guest, 
which  was  most  painful  to  bear.  In 
the  midst  of  what  dark  family  mystery 
was  I'?  What  meant  this  cruel 
spectacle  of  the  father's  terrified 
anger,  and  the  son's  scorn  ? 

"I  —  I  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis," 
says  the  Doctor,  with  a  choking  utter- 
ance and  a  ghastly  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ah  ovo,  sir  ?  "  says 
Phil.  Again  the  ghastly  look  of 
terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

"I  —  I  promise  to  bring  one  of 
the  first  noblemen  in  England,"  gasps 
the  Doctor,  "  from  a  public  dinner,  in 
my  carriage ;  and  my  son  takes  it, 
and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to 
walk  !  —  Is  it  fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is 
it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a 
gentleman  ;  of  a  son  to  a  father  'i  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  noth- 
ing can  excuse  it."  Indeed  I  was 
shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy 
and  undutifulness. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake  !  " 
cries  Phil,  reddening.  "  I  heard 
Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage ; 
I  mivde  no  doubt  he  would  bring  my 
father   home.      To  ride  in  a  chariot 


Avith  a  footman  behind  mc  is  no 
jileasurc  to  me,  and  I  would  far 
rather  have  a  llansoni  and  a  cigar. 
It  was  a  hluiider,  und  1  am  sorry  for 
it  —  tliere  !  And  if  I  live  to  a  hun- 
dred 1  can't  say  more." 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans 
the  father,  "  it  is  enough.  You 
remember,  Pendennis,  when  —  when 
my  son  and  I  were  not  on  this  —  on 
this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a 
moment  at  a  pieture  Mhich  was 
hanging  over  Phil's  head,  —  a  portrait 
of  Phil's  mother  ;  the  lady  of  whom 
my  own  mother  spoke,  on  that  even- 
ing when  we  had  talked  of  the  boy's 
illness.  Both  the  ladies  had  passed 
from  the  world  now,  and  their  images 
were  but  painted  shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  accejited  an  apolojiy^ 
though  the  son  had  made  none.  I 
looked  at  the  elder  Piimin's  face,  and 
the  character  written  on  it.  I  re- 
membered such  1  articulars  of  his 
early  history  as  had  been  told  to  me  ; 
and  I  peihetiy  recalled  that  feelinj;  of 
doubt  and  misliking  which  came 
over  my  mind  when  I  first  saw  the 
Doctor's  handsome  face  some  few 
years  ])reviously,  when  my  uncle  first 
took  me  to  tlie  Doctor's  in  Old  Parr 
Street;  little  Phil  being  then  a 
flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who  had 
just  assumed  his  first  trousers,  and  I 
a  fifth-form  loy  at  school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were 
members  of  the  medical  profession. 
They  had  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the 
same  school,  wliitlier  families  used 
to  send  their  sons  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  long  before  peo- 
ple had  ever  learned  that  the  place 
was  unwholesome.  Greyfriars  was 
smoky,  certainly  ;  I  think  in  the  time 
of  the  Plague  great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple were  buried  there.  But  had  the 
school  been  situated  in  the  most 
picturesque  swamp  in  England,  the 
general  health  of  the  boys  could  not 
have  been  better.  We  boys  u.^ed  to 
hear  of  epidemics  occurring  in  other 
schools,  and  were  almost  sorry  that 
they  did  not  come  to  ours,  so  that  we 
might  shut  up,  and  get  longer  vaca- 


72 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


there  was  one  member  of  the  auditory 
scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gen- 
tleman whispered  to  his  comrade  at 
the  commencement  of  the  phrase  con- 
cerning the  Doctor  the,  I  believe 
of  Eastern  derivation,  monosyllable 
"  Bosh  !  "  and  he  added  sadly,  look- 
ing towards  the  object  of  all  his  praise, 
"  He  can't  construe  the  Latin,  — 
though  it  is  all  a  parcel  of  humbug." 

"  Hush,  Phil !  said  his  friend , 
and  Phil's  face  flushed  red,  as  Dr. 
Firmin,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  looked  at 
him  for  one  moment ;  for  the  recipient 
of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other  than 
Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had 
long  since  passed  away.  Philip  was 
a  school-boy  no  longer,  but  in  his  sec- 
ond year  at  the  University,  and  one 
of  half  a  dozen  young  men,  ex-pupils 
of  the  school,  who  had  come  up  for 
the  annual  dinner.  The  honors  of 
this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firrain, 
even  more  than  for  Lord  Ascot  in  his 
■star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his 
arm  in  the  Doctor's  into  chapel. 
His  Lordship  faltered  when,  in  his  af- 
ter-dinner speech,  he  alluded  to  the 
inestimable  services  and  skill  of  his 
tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known 
as  a  fellow-pupil  in  those  walls  — 
(loud  cheers),  —  whose  friendship  had 
been  the  delight  of  his  life,  —  a  friend- 
ship which  he  prayed  might  be  the 
inheritance  of  their  children.  (Im- 
mense applause ;  after  which  Dr.  Fir- 
miii  spoke.) 

The  Doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a 
little  commonplace  ;  the  Latin  quota- 
tions which  he  used  were  not  exactly 
novel ;  but  Phil  need  not  have  been 
so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went  on 
sipping  sherry,  glaring  at  his  father, 
and  muttering  observations  that  were 
anything  but  com|tlimentary  to  his 
parent.  "  Now  look,"  says  he,  "  he  is 
going  to  be  overcome  by  his  f  clings. 
He  will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his 
mouth,  and  show  his  diamond  ring. 
I  tol  I  you  so  !  It 's  too  much.  I 
can't  swallow  this  .  .  .  this  sherry. 
I  say,  you  fellows,  let  us  come  out  of 
this,  and  have  a  smoke  somewhere." 


And  Phil  rose  up  and  quitted  the  din. 
ing-room,  just  as  his  father  was  de- 
claring what  a  joy,  and  a  pride,  and  a 
delight  it  was  to  him  to  think  that  the 
friendship  with  which  his  noble  friend 
honored  him  was  likely  to  be  trans- 
mitted to  their  children,  and  that 
when  he  had  passed  away  from  this 
earthly  scene  (cries  of  "  No,  no !  " 
"  May  you  live  a  thousand  years  ! ") 
it  would  be  his  joy  to  think  that  his 
son  would  always  find  a  friend  and 

Erotector  in  the  noble,  the  princely 
ouse  of  Ascot 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  out- 
side Greyfriars'  Gate,  and  Philip  Fir- 
min,  pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told 
the  footman  to  drive  home,  and  that 
the  Doctor  would  return  in  Lord  As- 
cot's carriage.  Home  then  to  Old 
Parr  Street  we  went,  where  many  a 
time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome. 
And  we  retired  to  Phil's  private  den 
in  the  back  buildings  of  the  great 
house  :  and  over  our  cigars  we  talked 
of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the 
speeches  delivered ;  and  of  the  old  Cis- 
tercians of  our  time,  and  how  Thomp- 
son was  married,  and  Johnson  was  in 
the  army,  and  Jackson  (not  red-haired 
Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson)  was  first 
in  his  year,  and  so  forth  ;  and  in  this 
twaddle  were  most  happily  engaged, 
when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the  tall 
door  of  the  study. 

"  Here  's  the  governor !  "  growled 
Phil ;  and  in  an  undertone,  "  What 
does  he  want  ?  " 

"  The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up, 
was  not  a  pleasant  object  to  behold. 
Dr.  Firmin  had  very  white  false  teeth, 
which  perhaps  were  a  little  too  large 
for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned  in 
the  gaslight  very  fiercely.  On  his 
cheeks  were  black  whiskers,  and  over 
his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows, 
and  his  bald  head  glittered  like  a 
billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  he  was  the  original  of  that 
melancholy  philosophic  portrait 
which  all  the  patients  admired  in  the 
Doctor's  waiting-room. 

"  I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my 
carriage,"    said    the    father  j    "  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


73 


Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever 
BO  far  for  a  cab  ! " 

"  Had  n't  he  got  his  own  carriaj^e  ^ 
I  thought  of  course  he  would  have  his 
carriage  on  a  State-day,  and  that 
you  would  come  home  with  the 
lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  promised  to  bring  him 
home,  sir  !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  'm  very  sorry,"  con- 
tinued the  son,  curtly. 

"  Sorry  !  "  screams  the  other. 

"  I  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  and  I 
am  very  sorry,"  answers  Phil ;  and 
lie  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into 
the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house 
hardly  knew  how  to  look  on  its  master 
or  his  son.  There  was  evidently 
some  dire  quarrel  between  them. 
The  old  man  glared  at  the  young 
one,  who  calmly  looked  his  father  in 
the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate 
seemed  to  flash  from  the  Doctor's 
eyes,  and  anon  came  a  look  of  wild 
pitiful  supplication  towards  the  guest, 
which  was  most  painful  to  bear.  In 
the  midst  of  what  dai'k  family  mystery 
was  II  What  meant  this  cruel 
spectacle  of  the  father's  tenitied 
anger,  and  the  son's  scorn  1 

"I  —  I  appeal  to  you,  Pcndennis," 
says  the  Doctor,  with  a  choking  utter- 
ance and  a  ghastly  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ah  ovo,  sir  ?  "  says 
Phil.  Again  the  ghastly  look  of 
terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

"I  —  I  promise  to  bring  one  of 
the  first  noblemen  in  England,"  gasps 
the  Doctor,  "  from  a  public  dinner,  in 
my  carriage ;  and  my  son  takes  it, 
and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to 
walk  !  —  Is  it  fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is 
it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a 
gentleman  ;  of  a  son  to  a  father "?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  noth- 
ing can  excuse  it."  Indeed  I  was 
shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy 
and  undutifulness. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake ! " 
cries  Phil,  reddening.  "  I  heard 
Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage ; 
I  nuule  no  doubt  he  would  bring  my 
father  home.      To  ride  in  a  chariot 


with  a  footman  behind  mo  is  no 
]ileasiire  to  me,  and  I  would  far 
rather  have  a  llansoni  and  a  cigar. 
It  was  a  hluniler,  um\  I  am  sorry  for 
it  —  there  !  And  if  I  live  to  a  hun- 
dred I  can't  say  more." 

"If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans 
the  father,  "  it  is  enough.  You 
remember,  Pendeunis,  when  —  when 
my  son  and  I  were  not  on  this  —  on 
this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a 
moment  at  a  picture  which  was 
hanging  over  Phil's  head,  —  a  portrait 
of  Phil's  mother ;  the  lady  of  whom 
my  own  mother  spoke,  on  that  even- 
ing when  we  had  talked  of  the  boy's 
illness.  Both  the  ladies  had  pnssed 
from  the  world  now,  and  their  images 
were  but  painted  shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  aeeej)ted  an  apolo<;yy 
though  the  son  hiid  made  none.  I 
looked  at  the  elder  Fiimin's  face,  and 
the  character  written  on  it.  I  re- 
membered such  ]  articulars  of  his 
early  history  ns  had  been  told  to  me  ; 
and  I  pciftetly  recalled  that  feeling  of 
doubt  and  misliking  which  came 
over  my  mind  when  1  first  saw  the 
Doctor's  handsome  face  some  few 
years  jireviously,  when  my  uncle  first 
took  me  to  tlie  Doctor's  in  Old  Parr 
Street ;  little  Phil  being  then  a 
flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who  had 
just  assumed  his  first  trousers,  and  I 
a  fifth-form  boy  at  school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were 
members  of  the  medical  profession. 
They  had  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the 
same  school,  whither  families  used 
to  send  their  sons  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  long  before  peo- 
ple had  ever  learned  that  the  place 
was  unwholesome.  Greyfriars  was 
smoky,  certainly  ;  I  think  in  the  time 
of  the  Plague  great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple were  buried  there.  But  had  the 
school  been  situated  in  the  most 
picturesque  swamp  in  England,  the 
general  health  of  the  boys  could  not 
have  been  better.  We  boys  lu'^ed  to 
hear  of  epidemics  occurring  in  other 
schools,  and  were  almost  sorry  that 
they  did  not  come  to  ours,  so  that  we 
might  shut  up,  and  get  longer  vaca- 


74 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


tk>ns.  Eren  that  illness  which 
subsequently  befell  Phil  Firmin  him- 
Belf  attacked  no  one  else, — tlie  boys 
all  luckily  goitjj^  home  for  the  holi- 
days oil  the  very  day  of  poor  Phil's 
seizure  ;  but  of  this  illness  more  anon. 
When  it  was  determined  that  little 
Phil  Firmin  was  to  go  to  Grey- 
friars,  Phil's  father  bethought  him 
that  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he 
met  in  the  world  and  society,  had  a 
nephew  at  the  place,  who  mi^ht  pro- 
tect the  little  fellow,  and  the  Major 
took  his  nephew  to  see  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Firmin  one  Sunday  after  church,  and 
we  had  lunch  at  Old  Parr  Street,  and 
there  little  Phil  was  presented  to  me, 
whom  I  promised  to  take  under  my 
protection.  He  was  a  simple  little 
man ;  an  artless  child,  who  had  not 
the  least  idea  of  the  dignity  of  a  fifth- 
form  boy.  He  was  quite  unabashed 
in  talking  to  me  and  other  persons, 
and  has  rem-iined  so  ever  since.  He 
asked  my  uncle  how  he  came  to  have 
such  odd  hair.  He  partook  freely  of 
the  deliracies  on  the  table.  I  rranem- 
ber  he  hit  me  with  his  litle  fist  once 
or  twice,  which  liberty  at  first  struck 
me  with  a  panic  of  tistonishment,  and 
then  with  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  so 
exquisitely  keen,  that  I  burst  out 
into  a  fit  of  laughter.  It  was,  you 
see,  as  if  a  stranger  were  to  hit  the 
Pope  in  the  ribs,  and  call  him  "  Old 
boy  " ;  as  if  Jack  were  to  tweak  one 
of  the  giants  by  the  nose ;  or  Knsign 
Jones  to  ask  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
to  take  wine.  I  had  a  strong  sense  of 
humor,  even  in  those  early  days,  and 
enjoyed  this  joke  accordingly. 

"  Philip  !  "  cries  mamma,  "  you  will 
hurt  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"  I  will  knock  him  down  ! "  shouts 
Phil.  Fancy  knocking  me  down, — 
ME,  a  fifth-form  boy ! 

"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules," 
remarks  the  mother. 

"  He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his 
cradle,"  says  the  Doctor,  looking  at 
me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I 
felt  Dr.  Fell  towards  him. ) 

"  La,  Dr.  Firmin  I "  cries  mamma, 
"I  can't  bear  snakes.    I  remember 


I  there  was  one  at  Rome,  when  we  were 
I  walking  one  day,  a  gi'eat,  large  snake, 
and  I  hateil  it,  an'l  I  cried  out,  and  I 
nearly  fainted ;  and  my  uncle  King- 
wood  said  I  ought  to  like  snakes,  for 
one  might  be  an  agrceaijle  rattle ;  and 
.1  have  read  of  them  being  charming 
!  in  India,  and  I  dare  say  you  have, 
Mr.  Pendennis,  for  I  am  told  you  are 
,  very  clever .  and  I  am  not  in  the 
least ;  I  wish  I  were ;  but  my  hus- 
band is,  very,  —  and  so  will  Phil  be. 
Will  you  be  a  very  clever  boy,  dear  ? 
He  was  named  after  my  dear  papa, 
who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when  I  was 
quite,  quite  a  little  thing,  and  we  wore 
mourning,  and  we  went  to  live  with 
my  uncle  Ringwood  afterwards  ;  but 
Maria  and  I  had  both  our  own  for- 
tunes ;  and  I  am  sure  I  little  thought 
I  should  marry  a  physician,  —  la,  one 
of  Uncle  Ringwood's  grooms,  I  should 
as  soon  have  thought  of  marrying  him ! 
—  but,  you  know,  my  husband  is  one 
of  the  cleverest  men  m  the  world.  Don't 
tell  me,  —  you  are,  dciirest,  and  you 
know  it ;  and  when  a  man  is  clever,  I 
don't  value  his  rank  in  life ;  no,  not  if 
he  was  that  fender;  and  I  always 
said  to  Uncle  Ringwood,  '  Talent  I 
will  many,  for  talent  I  adore ' ;  and  I 
did  marry  you.  Dr.  Firmin,  you  know 
I  did,  and  this  child  is  your  image. 
And  you  will  be  kind  to  him  at 
school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  turning 
to  me,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears, 
"  for  talent  is  always  kind,  except  Un- 
cle Ringwood,  and  he  was  very  —  " 

"  A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Penden- 
nis ^  "  said  the  Doctor, — Dr.  Fell  still, 
though  he  was  most  kind  to  me. 
"  I  shall  put  my  little  man  under 
your  care,  and  I  know  you  will  keep 
him  from  harm.  I  hope  you  will  do 
U'^  the  favor  to  come  to  Parr  Street 
whenever  you  are  free.  In  my  fa- 
ther's time  we  used  to  come  home  of 
a  Saturday  from  school,  and  enjoyed 
going  to  the  play."  And  the  Doctor 
shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  I 
must  say,  continued  his  kindness  to 
me  as  lonsr  as  ever  I  knew  him. 
When  we  went  away,  my  uncle  Pen- 
dennis  told  me  many  Ktories   about 


THE  ADVENTUEES  OF  PHILIP. 


75 


the  great  earl  and  family  of  Ringwood, 
and  how  Dr.  Firmin  had  made  a 
match  —  a  match  of  the  affections  — 
with  this  lady,  daughter  of  Philip 
Ringwood,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  ; 
and  how  she  had  been  a  great  beauty, 
and  was  a  perfect  grande  aame  always ; 
and,  if  not  the  cleverest,  certainly  one 
of  the  kindest  and  most  amiable  wo- 
men in  the  world. 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to 
receive  the  opinions  of  my  informant 
with  such  respect  that  I  at  once  ac- 
cepted this  statement  as  authentic. 
Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait,  indeed,  was 
beautiful :  it  was  painted  by  young 
Mr.  Harlowe,  that  year  he  was  at 
Rome,  and  when  in  eighteen  days  he 
completed  a  copy  of  the  "  Transfigu- 
ration," to  the  admiration  of  all  the 
Academy ;  but  I,  for  my  part,  only 
remember  a  lady  weak,  and  thin,  and 
faded,  who  never  came  out  of  her 
dressing-room  until  a  late  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  and  whose  superannuated 
smiles  and  grimaces  used  to  provoke 
my  juvenile  sense  of  humor.  She 
used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow ;  and.  as 
she  held  the  boy's  hand  in  one  of  her 
lean  ones,  would  say,  "  Who  would 
suppose  such  a  great  boy  as  that  could 
be  my  son  ? "  "  Be  kind  to  him  when 
I  am  gone,"  she  sighed  to  me,  one 
Sunday  evening,  when  I  was  taking 
leave  of  her,  as  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  she  placed  her  thin  hand  in 
mine  for  the  last  time.  The  Poctor, 
reading  by  the  fire,  turned  round  and 
scowled  at  her  from  under  his  tall 
shining  forehead.  "  You  are  nervous, 
Louisa,  ajid  had  better  go  to  your 
room,  I  told  you  you  had,"  he  said, 
abruptly.  "  Young  gentleman,  it  is 
time  for  you  to  be  off  to  Greyfriars. 
Is  the  cab  at  the  door,  Brice  ?  And 
he  took  out  his  watch,  —  his  great 
shining  watch,  by  which  he  had  felt 
the  pul.ses  of  so  many  famous  person- 
ages, whom  his  prodigious  skill  had 
rescued  from  disease.  And  at  parting, 
Phil  flung  his  arms  round  his  poor 
mother,  and  kissed  her  under  the 
glossy  curls  ;  the  borrowed  curls  ! 
and  he  looked  his  father  resolutely  in 


the  face  (whose  own  glance  used  to 
fall  before  that  of  the  boy),  and  bade 
him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set 
forth  for  Greyfriars. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT    SCHOOL    AND    AT    HOME. 

I  DINED  yesterday  with  three  gen- 
tlemen, whose  time  of  life  may  \ye 
guessed  by  their  conversation,  a  great 
part  of  which  consisted  of  Eton  rem- 
iniscences and  lively  imitations  of 
Dr.  Keate.  Each  one,  as  he  described 
how  he  had  been  flogged,  mimicked 
to  the  best  of  his  power  the  manner 
and  the  mode  of  operating  of  the  fa- 
mous doctor.  His  little  parenthetical 
remarks  during  the  ceremony  were 
recalled  with  great  facetiousness  :  the 
very  hwhish  of  the  rods  was  parodied 
with  thrilling  fidelity,  and  after  a  good 
hour's  conversation,  the  subject  was 
brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description 
of  that  awful  night  when  the  doctor 
called  up  squad  after  squad  of  boys 
from  their  beds  in  their  respective 
boarding-houses,  whipped  throuj;h 
the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I 
don't  know  how  many  hundred  rebels. 
All  these  mature  men  laughed,  prat- 
tled, rejoiced,  and  became  young  again, 
as  they  recounted  their  stories ;  and 
each  of  them  heartily  and  eagerly 
bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how 
Keate  was  a  thorough  gentleman. 
Having  talked  about  their  floggings, 
I  say.  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apol- 
ogized to  me  for  dwelling  upon  a  sub- 
ject which  after  all  was  strictly  local : 
but,  indeed,  their  talk  greatly  amused 
and  diverted  me,  and  I  hope,  and  am 
quite  ready,  to  hear  all  their  jolly 
stories  over  again 

Be  not  angrv,  patient  reader  of  for- 
mer volumes  by  the  author  of  the 
present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous 
about  Greyfriars,  and  go  back  to  that 
ancient  place  of  education  to  find  the 
heroes  of  our  tale.  We  are  young 
but  once.  When  we  remember  that 
time  of  youth,  we  are  still  young. 


76 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


He  over  whose  head  eight  or  nine 
lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes  to 
write  of  boys,  must  recall  the  time 
when  he  himself  was  a  boy.  Their 
habits  change ;  their  waists  are  longer 
or  shorter ;  their  shirt-collars  stick  up 
more  or  less ;  but  the  boy  is  the  boy 
in  King  Greorge's  time  as  in  that  of 
his  royal  niece,  —  once  our  maiden 
queen,  now  the  anxious  mother  of 
many  boys.  And  younsr  fellows  are 
honest,  and  merry,  and  idle,  and  mis- 
chievous, and  timid,  and  brave,  and 
studious,  and  selfish,  and  generous, 
and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth-tell- 
ing, and  affectionate,  and  good,  and 
bad,  now  as  in  former  days.  He  with 
whom  we  have  mainly  to  do  is  a  gen- 
tleman of  mature  age  now  walking 
the  street  with  boys  of  his  own.  He 
is  not  going  to  perish  in  the  last  chap- 
ter of  thest  memoirs,  —  to  die  of  con- 
sumption with  his  love  weeping  by 
his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out 
in  despair,  because  she  has  been  mar- 
ried to  his  rival,  or  killed  out  of  a 
gig,  or  otherwise  done  for  in  the  last 
chapter  but  one.  No,  no;  we  will 
have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Fir- 
min  is  well  and  hearty  at  this  min- 
ute, owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can 
enjoy  his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  com- 
fort. So,  my  dear  miss,  if  you  want 
a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present 
won't  suit  you.  So,  young  gentle- 
man, if  you  are  for  melancholy,  de 
spair,  and  sardonic  satire,  please  to 
call  at  some  otber  shop.  That  Philip 
shall  have  his  trials  is  a  mutter  of 
course,  —  may  they  be  interc'^ting, 
though  they  do  not  end  dismally ! 
That  he  shall  fall  and  trip  in  his 
course  sometimes  is  pretty  certain. 
Ah,  who  does  not  upon  this  life- 
journey  of  ours  ?  Is  not  our  want 
the  occasion  of  our  brother's  charity, 
and  thus  docs  not  good  come  out  of 
that  evil  ?  When  the  traveller  (of 
whom  the  Master  spoke)  fell  among 
the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived 
to  try  many  a  heart  beside  his 
own,  —  the  Knave's  who  robbed  him, 
the  Levite's  and  Priest's  who  pa.ssed 
him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the  hum- 


ble Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured 
oil  into  his  wound,  and  held  out  its 
pittance  to  relieve  him. 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought 
to  school  by  his  mamma  in  her  car- 
riage, who  entreated  the  housekeeper 
to  have  a  special  charge  of  that  an- 
gelic child ;  and  as  soon  as  the  poor 
lady's  back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunce 
emptied  the  contents  of  the  little  boy's 
trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy  lit- 
tle cupboards,  wherein  reposed  other 
boys'  clothes  and  haberdashery  :  and 
then  Mrs.  Firmin  requested  to  see  the 
Rev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose  house  Philip 
was  to  board,  and  besought  him,  and 
explained  many  things  to  him,  such 
as  the  exceeding  delicacy  of  the 
child's  constitution,  &c.,  &c. ;  and  Mr. 
X.,  who  was  very  good-natured,  pat- 
ted the  boy  kindly  on  the  head,  and 
sent  for  the  other  Philip,  Philip  Ring- 
wood,  Phil's  cousin,  who  had  arrived 
at  Greyfriars  an  hour  or  two  before ; 
and  Mr.  X.  told  Ringwood  to  take 
care  of  the  little  fellow;  and  Mrs. 
Firmin,  choking  behind  her  pocket- 
handkerchief,  gurgled  out  a  blessing 
on  the  grinning  youth,  and  at  one 
time  had  an  idea  of  giving  Master 
Ringwood  a  sovereign,  but  paused, 
thinking  he  was  too  big  a  boy,  and 
that  she  might  not  take  such  a  lib- 
erty, and  presently  she  was  gone ;  and 
little  Phil  Firmin  was  introduced  to 
the  long-room  and  his  school-fellows 
of  Mr.  X.'s  house ;  and  having  plenty 
of  money,  and  naturally  finding  his 
way  to  the  pastry-cook's,  the  next 
day,  after  school,  he  was  met  by  his 
cousin  Ringwood  and  robbed  of  half 
the  tarts  which  he  had  purchased.  A 
fortnight  afterwards,  the  hospitable 
doctor  and  his  wife  asked  their  young 
kinsman  to  Old  Parr  Street,  Burling- 
ton Gardens,  and  the  two  boys  went; 
but  Phil  never  mentioned  anything 
to  his  parents  regarding  the  robbery 
of  tarts,  being  detened,  perhaps,  from 
speaking  by  awful  threats  of  punish- 
ment which  his  cousin  promised  to 
administer  when  they  got  back  to 
school,  in  case  of  the  little  boy's  con- 
fession.    Subsequently,  Master  Ring- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


77 


wood  was  asked  once  in  every  term 
to  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  neither  Mrs. 
Firniin,  nor  the  Doctor,  nor  Master 
Finnin  liked  the  Baronet's  son,  and 
Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced  him  a  vio- 
lent, rude  boy. 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly 
and  early,  and  my  little  protege  be- 
hind me.  His  poor  mother,  who  had 
promised  herself  to  come  for  him 
every  Saturday,  did  not  keep  her 
promise.  Smithfield  is  a  long  way 
from  Piccadilly;  and  an  angry  cow 
once  scratched  the  panels  of  her  car- 
riage, causing  her  footman  to  spring 
from  his  board  into  a  pigpen,  and 
herself  to  feel  such  a  shock,  that  no 
wonder  she  was  afraid  of  visiting  the 
City  afterwards.  The  circumstances 
of  this  accident  she  often  narrated  to 
us.  Her  anecdotes  were  not  numer- 
ous, but  she  told  them  repeatedly.  In 
imagination,  sometimes,  1  can  hear 
her  ceaseless,  simple  cackle;  see  her 
faint  eyes,  as  she  prattles  on  uncon- 
sciously, and  watch  the  dark  looks  of 
her  handsome,  silent  husband,  scowl- 
ing from  under  his  eyebrows  and 
smiling  behind  his  teeth.  I  dare  say 
he  ground  those  teeth  with  suppressed 
rage  sometimes.  I  dare  say  to  bear 
with  her  endless  volubility  must  have 
tasked  his  endurance.  He  may  have 
treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him. 
She,  on  her  part,  may  have  been  a  not 
very  wise  woman,  but  she  was  kind 
to  me.  Did  not  her  housekeeper 
make  me  the  best  of  tarts,  and  keep 
goodies  from  the  company  dinners  for 
the  young  gentlemen  when  they  came 
home  ?  Did  not  her  husband  give  me 
of  his  fees  1  I  promise  you  after  I 
had  seen  Dr.  Fell  a  few  times,  that 
first  unpleasing  impression  produced 
by  his  darkling  countenance  and  sin- 
ister good  looks  wore  away.  He  was 
a  gentleman.  He  had  lived  in  the 
great  world,  of  which  he  told  anec- 
dotes delightful  to  boys  to  hear  ;  and 
he  passed  the  bottle  to  me  as  if  I  was 
a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the 
injunction  of  poor  Mrs.  Firmin  to  be 
kind   to  her  boy.     As  long  as  we 


stayed  together  at  Greyfriars,  I  was 
Phil's  chamjMon  whenever  he  needed 
my  protection,  though  of  course  I 
could  not  always  be  present  to  guard 
the  little  scapegrace  from  all  the  blows 
which  were  aimed  at  his  young  face 
by  pugilists  of  his  own  size.  There 
were  seven  or  eight  years'  difference 
between  us  (he  says  ten,  which  is 
absurd,  and  which  I  deny) ;  but  I  was 
always  remarkable  for  my  affability, 
and,  in  spite  of  our  disparity  of  age, 
would  often  graciously  accept  the 
general  invitation  I  had  from  his  father 
for  any  Saturday  and  Sunday  when  I 
would  like  to  accompany  Philip 
home. 

Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to 
any  school-boy.  To  got  away  from 
Smithfield,  and  show  our  best  clothes 
in  Bond  Street,  was  always  a  privilege. 
To  strut  in  the  Park  on  Sunday,  and 
nod  to  the  other  fellows  who  were 
strutting  there  too,  was  better  than 
remaining  at  school,  "  doing  '  Diates- 
saron,' "  as  the  phrase  used  to  be, 
having  that  endless  roast-beef  for 
dinner,  and  hearing  two  sermons  ia 
chapel.  There  may  have  been  more 
lively  streets  in  London  than  Old 
Parr  Street ;  but  ft  was  pleasanter  to 
be  there  than  to  look  at  Goswell  Street 
over  Greyfriars'  wall ;  and  so  the  present 
biographer  and  reader's  very  humble 
servant  found  Dr.  Firmin's  house  an 
agreeable  resort.  Mamma  was  often 
ailing,  or,  if  well,  went  out  into  the 
world  with  her  husband ;  in  either 
case,  we  boys  had  a  good  dinner  pro- 
vided for  us,  with  the  special  dishes 
which  Phil  loved;  and  after  dinner 
we  adjourned  to  the  play,  not  being 
by  any  means  too  proud  to  sit  in  the 
pit  with  Mr.  Brice,  the  Doctor's  confi- 
dential man.  On  Sunday  we  went  to 
church  at  Lady  Whittlesea's,  and 
back  to  school  in  the  evening ;  when 
the  Doctor  almost  always  gave  us  a  fee. 
If  he  did  not  dine  at  home  (and  I  own 
his  absence  did  not  much  damp  our 
pleasure),  Brice  would  lay  a  small 
enclosure  on  the  young  gentlemen's 
coats,  which  we  transferred  to  our 
pockets.     I  believe   school-boys  dis- 


79 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


dain  fees  in  the  present  disinterested 
times. 

Everything  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house 
was  as  handsome  as  might  be,  and 
yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheer- 
ful. One's  steps  fell  noiselessly  on 
the  faded  Turkey  carpet;  the  room 
was  large,  and  all  save  the  dining- 
table  in  the  dingy  twilight.  The 
picture  of  Mrs.  Firmin  looked  at  us 
from  the  wall,  and  followed  us  about 
with  wild  violet  eyes.  Philip  Firmin 
had  the  same  violet  odd  bright  eyes,  and 
the  same  colored  hair  of  an  auburn 
tinge ;  in  the  picture  it  fell  in  long 
wild  masses  over  the  lady's  back  as 
she  leaned  with  bare  arms  on  a  harp. 
Over  the  sideboard  was  the  doctor,  in 
a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur  collar, 
his  hand  on  a  skull  like  Hamlet. 
Skulls  of  oxen,  horned  with  wreaths, 
formed  the  cheerful  ornaments  of  the 
cornice.     On  the  side-table  glittered  a 

J»air  ofcups,  given  by  grateful  patients, 
ooking  like  receptacles  rather  for 
funereal  ashes  than  for  festive  flowers 
or  wine.  Brice,  the  butler,  wore  the 
gravity  and  costume  of  an  undertaker. 
The  footman  stealthily  moved  hither 
and  thither,  bearing  the  dinner  to  us ; 
we  always  spoke  under  our  breath 
whilst  we  were  eating  it.  "  The  room 
don't  look  more  cheerful  of  a  morning 
when  the  patients  are  sitting  here,  I 
can  tell  you,"  Phil  would  say ;  indeed, 
we  could  well  fancy  that  it  was  dis- 
mal. The  drawing-room  had  a  rhu- 
barb-colored flock  p^per (on  account 
of  the  tjovernor's  attachment  to  the 
shop,  Miister  Phil  said),  a  great  piano, 
a  harp  smothered  in  a  leather  bag  in 
the  corner,  wliich  the  languid  owner 
now  never  touched  ;  and  everybody's 
face  seemed  scared  and  pale  in  the 
great  looking-glasses,  which  reflected 
you  over  and  over  a>:aia  into  the  dis- 
tance, so  that  you  seemed  to  twinkle 
off  right  through  the  Albany  into 
Piccadilly. 

Old  Parr  Street  has  been  a  habita- 
tion for  generations  of  surgeons  and 
physicians.  I  suppose  the  noblemen 
for  whose  use  the  street  was  intended 
in  the  time  of  the  early  Georges  fled, 


finding  the  neighborhood  too  dismal, 
and  the  gentlemen  in  black  coats 
came  and  took  possession  of  the  gilded, 
gloomy  chambers  which  the  sacred 
mode  vacated.  These  mutations  of 
fashion  have  always  been  matters  of 
profound  speculation  to  me.  Why 
shall  not  one  moralize  over  London, 
as  over  Rome,  or  Baalbec,  or  Troy 
Town  ?  I  like  to  walk  among  the 
Hebrews  of  Wardour  Street,  and 
fancy  the  place,  as  it  once  was, 
crowded  with  chairs  and  gilt  chariots, 
and  torches  flashing  in  the  hands  of 
the  running  footmen.  I  have  a  grim 
pleasure  in  thinking  that  Golden 
Square  was  once  the  resort  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  Monmouth  Street  the 
delight  of  the  genteel  world.  What 
shall  prevent  us  Londoners  from 
musing  over  the  decline  and  fall 
of  city  sovereignties,  and  drawing 
our  cockney  '  morals  1  As  the  late 
Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history 
leaning  against  a  column  in  the 
Capitol,  why  should  not  I  muse  over 
mine,  reclining  under  an  arcade  of 
the  Pantheon  !  Not  the  Pantheon  at 
Rome,  in  the  Cabbage  Market  by  the 
Piazza  Navona,  where  the  immortal 
gods  were  worshipped,  — the  immortal 
gods  who  are  now  dead  ;  but  the  Pan- 
theon in  Oxford  Street,  ladies,  where 
you  purchase  feeble  pomatums,  music, 
glass-ware,  and  baby -linen  ;  and  which 
has  its  history  too.  Have  not  Selwyn, 
and  Walpole,  and  March,  and  Carlisle 
figured  there  ?  Has  not  Prince  Flor- 
izel  flounced  through  the  hall  in  his 
rustling  domino,  and  danced  there  in 
powdered  splendor  ?  and  when  the 
ushers  refused  admission  to  lovely 
Sophy  Baddeley,  did  not  the  young 
men,  her  adorers,  draw  their  rapiers 
and  vow  to  slay  the  doorkeepers  ;  and, 
crossing  the  glittering  blades  over  the 
enchantress's  head,  make  a  warlike 
triumphal  arch  for  her  to  pass  under, 
all  flushed, and  smiling,  and  perfumed, 
and  painted  ?  Tiie  lives  of  streets  are 
as  the  lives  of  men,  and  shall  not  the 
street-preacher,  if  so  minded,  take  for 
the  text  of  his  sermon  the  stones  in  the 
gutter?      That  you  were  once  the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


79 


resort  of  the  fashion,  O  Monmouth 
Street !  by  the  invocation  of  blessed 
St.  Giles  shall  I  not  improve  that 
sweet  thought  into  a  godly  discourse, 
and  make  the  ruin  edifying  ?  0  mts 
freres  1  There  were  splendid  thorough- 
fares, dazzling  company,  bright  illu- 
minations, in  our  streets  when  our 
hearts  were  young  :  we  entertained  in 
them  a  noble  youthful  company  of 
chivalrous  hopes  and  lofty  ambitions ; 
of  blushing  thoughts  in  snowy  robes 
spotless  and  virginal.  See,  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  where  you 
sat  looking  to  the  stars,  and  nestling 
by  the  soft  side  of  your  first  love,  hang 
Mr.  Moses'  bargains  of  turned  old 
clothes'very  cheap  ;  of  worn  old  boots, 
bedraggled  in  how  much  and  how 
many  })eople's  mud ;  a  great  bargain. 
See!. along  the  street,  strewed  with 
flowers  once  mayhap  —  a  fight  of  beg- 
gais  lor  the  refuse  of  an  apple-stall, 
or  a  tipsy  basket-woman  reeling 
shrieking  to  the  station.  O  me !  O 
my  beloved  congregation !  I  have 
preached  this  stale  sermon  to  you  for 
ever  so  many  years.  O  my  jolly 
companions,  I  have  drunk  many  a 
bout  with  you,  and  always  found 
vanitas  vanitatum  written  on  the  bot- 
tom of  the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralize  now  when  I 
pass  the  place.  The  garden  has  run 
to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the 
statues  have  broken  noses,  the  gravel 
is  dank  with  green  moss,  the  roses 
are  withered,  and  the  nightingales 
have  ceased  to  make  love.  It  is  a 
funereal  street,  Old  Parr  Street,  cer- 
tainly ;  the  carriages  which  drive 
there  ought  to  have  feathers  on  the 
roof,  and  the  butlers  who  open  the 
doors  should  wear  weepers,  —  so  the 
scene  strikes  you  now  as  you  pass 
along  the  spacious  empty  pavement. 
You  are  bilious,  my  good  man.  Go 
and  pay  a  guinea  to  one  of  the  doctors 
in  those  houses  ;  there  are  still  doctors 
there.  He  will  prescribe  taraxacum 
for  you,  or  pil :  hydrarg  :  Bless  you ! 
in  my  time,  to  us  gentlemen  of  the 
fifth  form,  the  place  was  bearable. 
The  yellow  fogs  did  n't  damp  our 


spirits,  —  and  we  never  thought  them 
too  thick  to  keep  us  away  from  the 
jjliiy :  from  the  chivalrous  Charles 
Keniblc,  I  tell  you,  my  Mirabel,  my 
Mercutio,  my  princely  Falconbridge  : 
from  his  adorable  daughter  (0  my 
distracted  heart!)  from  the  classic 
Young :  from  the  glorious  Long 
Tom  Coffin :  from  the  unearthly 
Vanderdecken, — "Return,  O  my  love, 
and  we  '11  never,  never  part " :  (where 
art  thou,  sweet  singer  of  that  most 
thrilling  ditty  of  my  youth?)  from 
the  sweet,  sweet  Victor ine  and  the 
Bottle  Imp.  O  to  see  that  Bottle 
Imp  again,  and  hear  that  song  about 
the  "  Pilgrim  of  Love  !  "  Once,  but 
—  hush ;  —  this  is  a  secret  —  we  had 
private  boxes,  the  Doctor's  grand 
friends  often  sending  him  these ;  and 
finding  the  opera  rather  slow,  we 
went  to  a  concert  in  M-d-n  Lane, 
near  Covent  Garden,  and  heard  the 
most  celestial  glees,  over  a  supper  of 
fizzing  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes, 
such  as  the  world  has  never  seen 
since.  We  did  no  harm ;  but  I  dare 
say  it  was  very  wrong.  Brice,  the 
butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us. 
We  bullied  him,  and  made  him  take 
us  where  we  liked.  We  had  rum- 
shrub  in  the  housekeeper's  room, 
where  we  used  to  be  diverted  by  the 
society  of  other  butlers  of  the  neigh- 
boring nobility  and  gentry,  who 
would  step  in.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong 
to  leave  us  so  to  the  company  of  ser- 
vants. Dr.  Firmin  used  to  go  to  his 
grand  parties,  Mrs.  Firmin  to  bed. 
"  Did  we  enjoy  the  performance  last 
night  ? "  our  host  would  ask  at 
breakfast.  "  O  yes,  we  enjoyed  the 
performance!"  But  my  poor  Mrs. 
Firmin  fancied  that  we  enjoyed  Semi- 
ramide  or  the  Donna  del.  Logo ;  where- 
as we  had  been  to  the  pit  at  the 
Adelphi  (out  of  our  own  money), 
and  seen  that  jolly  John  Reeve,  and 
laughed  —  laughed  till  we  were  fit  to 
drop  —  and  stayed  till  the  curtain 
was  down.  And  then  we  would 
come  home,  and,  as  aforesaid,  pass  a 
delightful  hour  over  supper,  and  hear 
the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's  friends, 


8^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  other  buders.  Ah,  that  was  a 
time  indeed  !  There  never  was  any 
liquor  so  good  as  rum-shrub,  never ; 
and  the  sausages  had  a  flavor  of  Ely- 
sium. How  hushed  we  were  when 
Dr.  Finnin,  coming  home  from  his 
parties,  let  himself  in  at  the  street- 
door  !  Shoeless,  we  crept  up  to  our 
bedrooms.  And  we  came  down  to 
breakf;ist  with  innocent  young  faces, 
—  and  let  Mrs.  Firmin,  at  lunch, 
prattle  about  the  opera;  and  there 
stood  Brice  and  the  footman  behind 
us,  looking  quite  grave,  the  abomina- 
ble hypocrites ! 

Tlieii,  sir,  there  was  a  certain  way, 
out  of  the  study  window,  or  through 
the  kitchen  and  over  the  leads,  to  a 
building,  gloomy  indeed,  but  where  I 
own  to  have  spent  delightful  hours  of 
the  most  flagitious  and  criminal  en- 
joyment of  some  delicious  little  Ha- 
vannahs,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In 
that  building  there  were  stables  once, 
doubtless  occupied  by  great  Flemish 
horses  and  rumbling  gold  coaches  of 
Walpole's  time;  but  a  celebrated 
surgeon,  when  he  took  possession  of 
the  house,  made  a  lecture-room  of  the 
premises,  — "  And  this  door,"  says 
Phil,  pointing  to  one  leading  into  the 
mews,  "  was  very  convenient  for 
having  the  bodies  in  and  out,"  —  a 
cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind 
of  furniture  there  was  now  very  little 
in  the  apartment,  except  a  dilapidated 
skeleton  in  a  corner,  a  few  dusty  casts 
of  heads,  and  bottles  of  preparations 
on  the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and  some 
mildewed  harness  hanging  on  the 
walls.  This  apartment  became  Mr. 
Phil's  smoking-room  when,  as  he 
grew  taller,  he  felt  himself  too  digni- 
fieil  to  sit  in  the  kitchen  regions :  the 
honest  butler  and  housekeeper  them- 
selves jM)inting  out  to  their  j'oung 
master  that  liis  place  was  elsewhere 
than  among  the  servants.  So  there, 
privately  and  with  great  delectation, 
we  smoked  many  an  abominable  cigar 
in  that  dreary  back  room,  the  gaunt 
walls  and  twilight  ceilings  of  which 
were  by,  no  means  melancholy  to  us, 
who  found  forbidden  pleasures  the 


I  sweetest,  after  the  absurd  fashion  of 
boys.     Dr.  Firmin  was  an  enemy  to 
I  smoking,   and    ever    accustomed    to 
speak  of  the  practice  with  eloquent 
indignation.     "  It  was  a  low  practice, 
i  —  the  habit    of   cabmen,    pot-houso 
!  frequenters,  and  Irish  apple-women," 
\  the  doctor  would  say,  as  Phil  and  his 
friend  looked  at  each    other   with  a 
stealthy  joy.     Phil's  father  was  ever 
j  scented  and  neat,  the  pattern  of  hand- 
[  some  propriety.     Perhaps  he  had  a 
clearer  perception  regarding  manners 
than  respecting  morals  ;  perhaps  his 
conversation  was  full  of  platitudes,  his 
talk    (concerning  people  of   fashion 
chiefly)  mean  and  uninstructivc,  his 
behavior    to    young     Lord    Egham 
rather  fulsome  and  lacking  of  dignity. 
Perhaps,  I  say,  the  idea  may  have 
entered  into  young  Mr.  Pendennis's 
mind  that  his  hospitable  entertainer 
and  friend,  Dr.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr 
Street,  was  what  at  the  present  day 
might  be  denominated  an  old  hum- 
bug ;  but  modest  young  men  do  not 
come  quickly  to  such  unpleasant  con- 
clusions regarding  their  seniors.     Dr. 
Firmin's  manm  rs  were  so  good,  his 
forehead  was  so  high,  his  frill  so  fresh, 
his  hands  so  white  and  slim,  that  for 
some  considerable  time  we  ingenuous- 
j  ly    admired    him ;    and    it   was    not 
without  a  pang  that  we  came  to  view 
I  him  as  he  actually  was,  — no,  not  as 
j  he  actually  was  —  no  man  whose  early 
i  nurture  was  kindly  can  judge  quite 
I  impartially  the  man   who  has   been 
kind  to  him  in  boyhood. 
I      I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving 
■  my  little  Phil  behind  me,  a  brave  little 
handsome  boy,  endearing  himself  to 
old  and  young  by  his  good  looks,  his 
gayety,  his  courage,  and  his  gentle- 
1  manly  bearing.      Once  in  a  way  a 
letter  would  come  from  him,  full  of 
I  that  artless  affection  and  tenderness 
1  which  tills    boys'   hearts,  and  is   so 
'  touching    in  their    letters.      It    was 
1  answered  with    proper  dignity    and 
j  condescension    on  the    senior    boy's 
I  part.     Our  modest  little  country  home 
i  kept  up   a  friendly  intercourse  with 
I  Dr.  Firmin's  grand  London  mansion. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


81 


of  which,  in  his  visits  to  us,  my 
uncle,  Major  Pendennis,  did  not  fail 
to  bring  news.  A  correspondence 
took  place  between  the  ladies  of  each 
house.  We  supplied  Mrs.  Firmin 
with  little  country  presents,  tokens 
of  my  mother's  good-will  and  grati- 
tude towards  the  friends  who  had 
been  kind  to  her  son.  I  went  my 
way  to  the  University,  having  oc- 
casional glimpses  of  Phil  at  school. 
I  took  chambers  in  the  Temple,  which 
he  found  great  delight  in  visiting ; 
and  he  liked  our  homely  dinner  from 
Dick's,  and  a  bed  on  the  sofa,  better 
than  the  splendid  entertainments  in 
Old  Parr  Street  and  his  great  gloomy 
chamber  there.  He  had  grown  by 
this  time  to  be  ever  so  much  taller 
than  his  senior,  though  he  always 
persists  in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the 
present  day. 

A  very  few  weeks  after  my  poor 
mother  passed  that  judgment  on  Mrs. 
Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and 
revoke  it.  Phil's  mother,  who  was 
afraid,  or  perhaps  was  forbidden,  to 
attend  her  son  in  his  illness  at  school, 
was  taken  ill  herself. 

Phil  returned  to  Greyfriars  in  a 
deep  suit  of  black  ;  the  servants  on  the 
carriage  wore  black  too ;  and  a  cer- 
tain tyrant  of  the  place,  beginning  to 
laugh  and  jeer  because  Firmin's  eyes 
filled  with  tears  at  some  ribald  re- 
mark, was  gruffly  rebuked  by  Samp- 
son major,  the  cock  of  the  whole 
school ;  and  with  the  question, 
"  Don't  you  see  the  poor  beggar  's  in 
mourning,  you  great  brute"?"  was 
kicked  about  his  business. 

When  Philip  Firmin  and  I  met 
again,  there  was  crape  on  both  our 
hats.  I  don't  think  either  could  see 
the  other's  face  very  well.  I  went  to 
see  him  in  Parr  Street,  in  the  vacant, 
melancholy  house,  where  the  poor 
mother's  picture  was  yet  hanging  in 
her  empty  drawing-room. 

"  She  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pen- 
dennis," said  Phil.  "  God  bless  you 
for  being  so  good  to  her.  You  know 
what  it  is  to  lose  —  to  lose  what  loves 
you  best  in  the  world.  I  did  n't  know 
4  # 


how  —  how  I  loved  her,  till  I  had  lost 
her."  And  many  a  sob  broke  his 
words  as  he  spoke. 

Her  picture  was  removed  from  the 
drawing-room  presently  into  Phil's 
own  little  study,  —  the  room  in  which 
he  sat  and  defied  his  father.  Wliat 
had  passed  between  them  1  The 
young  man  was  very  much  changed. 
The  frank  looks  of  old  days  were 
gone,  and  Phil's  face  was  haggard 
and  bold.  The  Doctor  would  not  let 
me  have  a  word  more  with  his  son 
after  he  had  found  us  together,  but, 
with  dubious  appealing  looks,  fol- 
lowed me  to  the  door,  and  shut  it 
upon  me.  I  felt  that  it  closed  upon 
two  unhappy  men. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A     CONSULTATION. 

Should  I  peer  into  Firmin's  pri- 
vacy, and  find  the  key  to  that  secret  1 
What  skeleton  was  there  in  the 
closet  ?  In  the  Cornhill  Magazine,* 
you  may  remember,  there  were  some 
verses  about  a  portion  of  a  skeleton. 
Did  you  remark  how  the  poet  and 
present  proprietor  of  the  human  skull 
at  once  settled  the  sex  of  it,  and 
determined  off-hand  that  it  must  have 
belonged  to  a  woman  ?  Such  skulls 
are  locked  up  in  many  gentleman's 
hearts  and  memories.  Bluebeard,  jou 
know,  had  a  whole  museum  of  them, — 
as  that  imprudent  little  last  wife  of 
his  found  out  to  her  cost.  And,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  lady,  we  supjiose, 
would  select  hers  of  the  sort  which 
had  carried  beards  when  in  the  flesh. 
Given  a  neat-locked  skeleton  cup- 
board, belonging  to  a  man  of  a  certain 
age,  to  ascertain  the  sex  of  the 
original  owner  of  the  bonefe,  you  have 
not  much  need  of  a  picklock  or  a 
blacksmith.  There  is  no  use  in 
forcing  the  hinge,  or  scratching  the 
pretty  panel.  We  know  what  is  in- 
side, —  we  arch  rogues  and  men  of  the 

*  No.  12 :  December,  186a 
F 


82 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not 
many,  — ■  enemies  and  victims  of  our 
hate  and  auger,  destroyed  and  tramp- 
led out  of  life  by  us,  and  locked  out 
of  sight:  but  corpses  of  our  dead 
loves,  m}'  dear  sir,  —  my  dear  madam, 
— •  have  we  not  got  them  stowed  away 
in  cupboard  after  cupboard,  in  bottle 
after  bottle  ?  O  fie !  And  young 
people !      What    doctrine  is  this   to 

E reach  to  them,  who  spell  your  book 
y  papa's  and  mamma's  knee  f  Yes, 
and  how  wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go 
to  church,  and  see  and  hear  papa  and 
mamma  publicly  on  their  knees,  call- 
ing out,  and  confessing  to  the  whole 
congregation,  that  they  are  sinners  ! 
So,  though  I  had  not  the  key,  I  could 
see  through  the  panel  and  the  glim- 
mering of  the  skeleton  inside. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed 
me  to  the  door,  and  his  eyes  only  left 
me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  str^eet, 
I  felt  sure  that  Phil  erelong  would 
open  his  mind  to  mi,  or  give  me  some 
clew  to  that  mystery.  I  should  liear 
from  him  why  his  bright  cheeks  had 
become  hollow,  why  his  fresh  voice, 
which  I  remember  so  honest  and 
cheerful,  was  now  harsh  and  sarcastic, 
with  tones  that  often  grated  on  the 
hearer,  and  laughter  that  gave  pain. 
It  was  about  Philip  himself  that  my 
anxieties  were.  The  young  fellow 
had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a 
considerable  fortune, —  some  eight  or 
nine  hundred  a  year,  we  always  un- 
derstood. He  was  living  in  a  costly, 
not  to  say  extravagant  manner.  I 
thought  Mr.  Philip's  juvenile  re- 
morses were  locked  up  in  the  skeleton 
closet,  and  was  grieved  to  think  he 
had  fallen  in  mischiefs  way.  Hence, 
no  doubt,  might  arise  the  anger  be- 
tween liim  and  his  father.  The  boy 
was  e-Ktravagant  and  headstrong : 
and  the  parent  remonstrant  and  irri- 
tated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Grood- 
enough  at  the  club  one  evening ;  and 
as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed 
with  him  about  his  former  patient,  and 
recalled  to  him  that  day,  years  back, 
when  the  boy  was  ill  at  school,  and 


when  my  poor  mother  and  Phil's  own 
were  yet  alive. 

Goodenough  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  was  very 
ill ;  he  was  nearly  gone  at  that  time 
—  at  that  time  —  when  his  mother 
was  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  his 
father  dangling  after  a  prince.  We 
thought  one  day  it  was  all  over  with 
him ;  but  —  " 

"  I3ut  a  good  doctor  interposed 
between  him  and  pallida  mors." 

"  A  good  doctor  ?  a  good  nurse ! 
The  boy  was  delirious,  and  had  a 
fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and 
would  have  done  so,  but  for  one  of  my 
nurses.     You  know  her." 

"  What !  the  Little  Sister  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil 
through  his  fever,  and  saved  his  life  ? 
I  drink  her  health.  She  is  a  good 
little  soul." 

'•'  Good  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  with  his 
gruffest  voice  and  frown.  —  (He  was 
always  most  fierce  when  he  was  most 
tender-hearted.)  "Good,  indeed! 
Will  you  have  some  more  of  this 
duck  ?  —  Do.  You  have  had  enough 
already,  and  it's  very  unwholesome. 
Good,  sir  f  But  for  women,  fire  and 
brimstone  ought  to  come  down  and 
consume  this  world.  Your  dear 
mother  was  one  of  the  good  ones.  I 
was  attending  you  when  you  were  ill, 
at  those  horrible  chambers  you  had 
in  the  Temple,  at  the  same  time  when 
young  Firmin  was  ill  at  Greyfriars. 
And  I  suppose  I  must  be  answerable 
for  keeping  two  scapegraces  in  the 
world." 

"  Why  did  n't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to 
see  him  ?  " 

"  Hm  !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate. 
Besides,  he  did  come.  Talk  of  the 
»     *     »  " 

The  personage  designated  by  aster- 
isks was  Phil's  father,  who  was  also 
a  member  of  our  club,  and  who  en- 
tered the  dining-room,  tall,  stately, 
and  pale,  with  his  stereotyped  smi)e, 
and  wave  of  his  pretty  hand.  By  the 
way,  that  smile  of  Firmin 's  was  a 
very  queer  contortion  of  the  handsome 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


83 


features.  As  you  came  up  to  him,  he 
would  draw  his  lips  over  his  teeth, 
causing  his  jaws  to  wrinkle  ^or  dimple 
if  you  will)  on  either  side.  Meanwhile 
his  eyes  looked  out  from  his  face,  quite 
melancholy  and  independent  of  the 
little  transaction  in  which  the  mouth 
was  engaged.  Lips  said,  "  I  am  a 
gentleman  of  fine  manners  and  fasci- 
nating address,  and  I  am  supposed  to 
be  happy  to  see  you.  How  do  you 
do  1  "  Dreary,  sad,  as  into  a  great 
blank  desert,  looked  the  dark  eyes. 
1  do  know  one  or  two,  but  only  one 
or  two  faces  of  men,  when  oppressed 
with  care,  which  can  yet  smile  all 
over. 

Goodenough  nods  grimly  to  the 
smile  of  the  other  doctor,  who  blandly 
looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  chin 
in  one  of  his  pretty  hands. 

"  How  do  ? "  growls  Goodenough. 
"  Young  hopeful  well  ?  " 

"  Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars 
till  morning  with  some  friends  of  his," 
says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  di- 
rected towards  me  this  time.  "  Boys 
will  be  boys."  And  he  pensively 
walks  away  from  us  with  a  friend- 
ly nod  towards  me;  examines  the 
dinner-card  in  an  attitude  of  melan- 
choly grace  ;  points  with  the  jewelled 
hand  to  the  dishes  which  he  will  have 
served,  and  is  off,  and  simpering  to 
another  acquaintance  at  a  distant 
table. 

"  I  thought  he  would  take  that 
tabic,"  says  Firmin's  cynical  confrere. 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door  ? 
Don't  you  see  how  the  candle  flickers  1 
It  is  the  worst  place  in  the   room  !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  you  see  who  is 
f^  sitting  at  the  next  table  ?  " 

Now  at  the  next  table  was  a 
n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who  was 
growling  at  the  quality  of  the  mut- 
ton cutlets,  and  the  half-pint  of  sherry 
which  he  had  ordered  for  dinner. 
But  as  his  Ix>rdship  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  ensuing  history,  of  course 
we  shall  not  violate  confidence  by 
mentioning  his  name.  We  could  see 
Firmin  smiling  qn  his  neighbor  with 
his    blandest    melancholy,   and   the 


waiters  presently  bearing  up  the 
dishes  which  the  Doctor  had  ordered 
for  his  own  refection.  He  was  no 
lover  of  mutton-chops  and  of  course 
sherry,  as  I  knew,  who  had  partaken 
of  many  a  feast  at  his  board.  I  could 
see  the  diamond  twinkle  on  his  pret- 
ty hand,  as  it  daintily  poured  out 
creaming  wine  from  the  ice-pail  by 
his  side,  —  the  liberal  hand  that  had 
given  me  many  a  sovereign  when  I 
was  a  boy. 

"  I  can't  help  liking  him,"  I  said  to 
my  companion,  whose  scornful  eyes 
were  now  and  again  directed  towards 
his  colleague. 

"  This  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost 
all  port  is  sweet  now,"  remarks  the 
Doctor. 

"  He  was  very  kind  to  me  in  my 
school-days ;  and  Philip  was  a  fine 
little  fellow." 

"  Handsome  a  boy  as  ever  I  saw. 
Does  he  keep  his  beauty  1  Father 
was  a  handsome  man  —  very.  Quite 
a  lady-killer,  —  I  mean  out  of  his 
practice !  "  adds  the  grim  Doctor. 
"  What  is  the   boy  doing  ?  " 

"  He  is  at  the  University.  He  has 
his  mother's  fortune.  He  is  wild  and 
unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to 
the  bad  a  little." 

"  Is  he  ?  Should  n't  wonder ! " 
grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and 
pleasantly  until  the  appearance  of 
the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's 
arrival  Goodenough  seemed  to  button 
up  his  conversation.  He  quickly 
stumped  away  from  the  dining-room 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  over  a 
novel  there  until  time  came  when  he 
was  to  retire  to  his  patients  or  his 
home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between 
the  doctors,  that  there  was  a  differ- 
ence between  Philip  and  his  father, 
was  clear  enough  to  me :  but  the 
causes  of  these  differences  I  had  yet 
to  learn.  The  story  came  to  me 
piecemeal  ;  from  confessions  here, 
admissions  there,  deductions  of  my 
own.  I  could  not,  of  course,  be  pres- 
ent at  many  of  the  scenes  which   I 


84 


THE  ADVENTUBES  OF  PHILIP. 


shall  have  to  relate  as  though  I  had 
witnessed  them ;  and  the  posture, 
language,  and  inward  thoughts  of 
Philip  and  his  friends,  as  here  related, 
no  doubt  are  fancies  of  the  narrator 
in  many  cases  ;  but  the  story  is  as 
authentic  as  many  histories,  and  the 
reader  need  only  give  such  an  amount 
of  credence  to  it  as  he  may  judge 
that  its  verisimihtude  warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert 
to  that  illness  which  befell  when 
Philip  Firmin  was  a  boy  at  Grey- 
friurs,  but  go  back  yet  farther  in 
time  to  a  period  which  I  cannot  pre- 
cisely ascertain. 

The  |jupils  of  old  Gandish's  paint- 
ing academy  may  remember  a  ridicu- 
lous little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of 
wild  talent,  about  the  ultimate  success 
of  which  his  friends  were  divided. 
Whether  Andrew  was  a  genius,  or 
whether  he  was  a  zany,  was  always 
a  moot  question  among  the  frequent- 
ers of  the  Greek  Street  billiard- 
rooms,  and  the  noble  disciples  of  the 
Academy  and  St.  Martin's  Lane. 
He  may  have  been  crazy  and  absurd  ; 
he  may  have  had  talent  too  :  such 
characters  are  not  unknown  in  art  or 
in  literature.  He  broke  thc^ Queen's 
English ;  he  was  ignorant  to  a  won- 
der ;  he  dressed  his  little  person  in 
the  most  fantastic  raiment  and  queer- 
est cheap  finery :  he  wore  a  beard, 
bless  my  soul !  twenty  years  before 
beards  were  known  to  wag  in  Britain. 
He  was  the  most  affected  little  crea- 
ture, and,  if  you  looked  at  him, 
would  pose  in  attitudes  of  such  ludi- 
crous dirty  dignity,  that  if  you  had 
had  a  dun  waiting  for  money  in  the 
hall  of  your  lodging-house,  or  your 
))irture  refused  at  the  Academy,  —  if 
you  were  suffering  under  ever  so 
much  calamity,  —  you  could  not  help 
laughing.  He  was  the  butt  of  all  his 
acquaintances,  the  laughing-stock  of 
hijih  and  low,  and  he  had  as  loving, 
gentle,  faithful,  honoral)le  a  heart  .is 
ever  beat  in  a  little  l)osom.  He  is 
gone  to  his  rest  now  ;  his  palette  and 
easel  are  waste  timber ;  his  genius, 
which    made    some    little  flicker   of 


brightness,  never  shone  much,  and  is 
extinct.  In  an  old  album  that  dates 
back  for  more  than  a  score  of  years, 
I  sometimes  look  at  poor  Andrew's 
strange  wild  sketches.  He  might 
have  done  something  had  he  contin- 
ued to  remain  poor ;  but  a  rich  wid- 
ow, whom  he  met  at  Rome,  fell  in 
love  with  the  strange  errant  painter, 
pursued  him  to  England,  and  married 
him  in  spite  of  himself.  His  genius 
drooped  under  the  servitude :  he  lived 
but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of  a 
consumption,  of  which  the  good 
Goodenough's  skill  could  not  cure 
him. 

One  day,  as  he  was  driving  with 
his  wife  in  her  splendid  barouche 
through  the  Haymarket,  he  suddenly 
bade  the  coachman  stop,  sprang  over 
the  side  of  the  carriage  before  the 
steps  could  be  let  fall,  and  his  aston- 
ished wife  saw  him  shaking  the  hands 
of  a  shabbily  dressed  little  woman 
who  was  passing,  —  shaking  both  her 
hands,  and  weeping,  and  gesticulat- 
ing, and  twisting  his  beard  and  mus- 
tachios,  as  his  wont  was  when  agitat- 
ed. Mrs.  MontHtchet  (the  wealthy 
Mrs.  Carrickfergus  she  had  been,  be- 
fore she  married  the  painter),  the 
owner  of  a  young  husband,  who  had 
sprung  from  her  side,  and  out  of  her 
carriage,  in  order  to  caress  a  young 
woman  passingin  thestreet,  might  well 
be  disturbed  bj'  this  demonstration ; 
but  she  was  a  kind-hearted  woman, 
and  when  Montfitchet,  on  reascend- 
ing  into  the  family  coach,  told  his 
wife  the  history  of  the  person  of 
whom  he  had  just  taken  leave,  .she 
cried  plentifully  too.  She  bade  the 
coachman  drive  straightway  to  her 
own  house :  she  rushed  up  to  her  own 
apartments,  whence  she  emerged, 
bearing  an  immense  bag  full  of  wear- 
ing apparel,  and  followed  by  a  pant- 
ing butler,  carrying  a  bottle-basket 
and  a  pie :  and  she  drove  off,  with  her 
pleased  Andrew  by  her  side,  to  a 
court  in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  where 
dwelt  the  poor  woman  with  whom  he 
had  just  been  conversing. 

It  had  pleased  Heaven,  in  the  midst 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


85 


of  dreadful  calamity,  to  send  her 
friends  and  succor.  She  was  suffer- 
ing under  misfortune,  poverty,  and 
cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who  liad 
called  himself  Brandon  when  he  took 
lodgings  in  her  father's  house  married 
her,  brought  her  to  London,  tired  of 
her,  and  left  her.  She  had  reason  to 
think  he  had  given  a  false  name  when 
he  lodged  with  her  father :  he  fled, 
after  a  few  months,  and  his  real  name 
she  never  knew.  When  he  deserted 
iier,  she  went  back  to  her  father,  a 
weak  man,  married  to  a  domineering 
woman,  who  pretended  to  disbelieve 
the  story  of  her  marriage,  and  drove 
her  from  the  door.  Desperate,  and 
almost  mad,  she  came  back  to  London, 
where  she  still  had  some  little  relics 
of  property  that  her  fugitive  husband 
left  behind  him.  He  promised,  when 
he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money  ;  but 
he  sent  none,  or  she  refused  it  —  or, 
in  her  wildness  and  despair,  lost  the 
dreadful  paper  which  announced  his 
desertion,  and  that  he  was  married 
before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would 
ruin  him,  and  he  knew  she  never 
would  do  that,  —  no,  however  much 
he  might  have  wronged  her. 

She  was  penniless  then,  — deserted 
by  all,  having  made  away  with  the 
last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love, 
having  sold  the  last  little  remnant  of 
her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing,  — 
alone  in  the  great  wilderness  of 
London,  when  it  pleased  God  to  send 
her  succor  in  the  person  of  an  old 
friend  who  had  known  her,  and  even 
loved  her,  in  happier  days.  When 
the  Samaritans  came  to  this  poor 
child,  they  found  her  sick  and 
shuddering  with  fever.  They  brought 
their  doctor  to  her,  who  is  never  so 
eager  as  when  he  runs  up  a  poor 
man's  stair.  And,  as  he  watched  by 
the  bed  where  her  kind  friends  came 
to  help  her,  he  heiird  her  sad  little 
story  of  trust  and  desertion. 

ller  father  was  a  humble  person 
who  had  seen  better  days ;  and  poor 
little  Mrs  Brandon  had  a  sweetness 
and  sim])licity  of  manner  which 
exceedingly  touched  the  good  doctor. 


She  had  little  education,  except  that 
which  silence,  long-suffering,  seclu- 
sion, will  sometimes  give.  When 
cured  of  her  illness,  there  was  the 
great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty  to 
meet  and  overcome.  How  was  she  to 
live  ?  He  got  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as 
of  a  child  of  his  own.  She  was  tidy, 
thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with  a  little 
simple  cheerfulness.  The  little  flow- 
ers began  to  bloom  as  the  sunshine 
touched  them.  Her  whole  life  hither- 
to had  been  cowering  under  neglect, 
and  tyranny,  and  gloom'. 

Mr.  Montfltchet  was  for  coming  so 
often  to  look  after  the  little  outcast 
whom  he  had  succored  that  I  am 
bound  to  say  Mrs.  M.  became  hysteri- 
cally jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on 
the  stairs  as  he  came  down  swathed 
in  his  Spanish  cloak,  pounced  on  him, 
and  called  him  a  monster.  Good- 
enoujih  was  also,  I  fancy,  suspicious 
of  Monttitchet,  and  Montfltchet  of 
Goodenough.  Howbeit,  the  Doctor 
vowed  that  he  never  had  other  than 
the  feeling  of  a  father  towards  his 
poor  little  ]/rote'(/e'e,  nor  could  any 
father  be  more  tender.  He  did  not 
try  to  take  her  out  of  her  station  in 
life.  He  found,  or  she  found  for 
herself,  a  work  which  she  could  do. 
"  Papa  used  to  say  no  one  ever  nursed 
him  so  nice  as  I  did,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  I  could  do  that  better  than  any- 
thing, except  my  needle,  but  I  like  to 
lie  useful  to  poor  sick  people  best.  I 
don't  think  about  myself  then,  sir." 
And  for  this  business  good  Mr. 
Goodenough  had  her  educated  and 
employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time 
whom  Mrs.  Brandon's  father  had 
married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to 
keep  him,  speaking  very  disrespect- 
fully of  this  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was, 
indeed,  a  weak  old  man.  And  now 
Caroline  came  to  the  rescue  of  her 
old  father.  She  was  a  shrewd  little 
Caroline.  She  had  saved  a  little 
money.  Goodenough  gave  up  a 
country-house,  which  he  did  not  care 
to  use,  and  lent  Mrs.  Brandon  the 
furniture.      She   thought  she    could 


86 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


% 


keep  a  lodging-house  and  find  lodgers. 
Montfitcliet  had  painted  her.  There 
was  a  sort  of  beauty  about  her  which 
the  artists  admired.  When  Ridley 
the  Academician  had  the  small-pox, 
she  attended  him,  and  caught  the 
malady.  She  did  not  mind ;  not  she. 
"  It  won't  spoil  my  beauty,"  she  said. 
Nor  did  it.  The  disease  dealt  very 
kindly  with  her  little  modest  face.  I 
don't  know  who  gave  her  the  nick- 
name, but  she  had  a  good  roomy 
house  in  Thomhaugh  Street,  an 
artist  on  the  first  and  second  floor  ; 
and  there  never  was  a  word  of  scandal 
against  the  Little  Sister,  for  was  not 
her  father  in  permanence  sipping 
gin-and-water  in  the  ground-floor 
parlor  1  As  we  called  her  "  the 
Little  Sister,"  her  father  was  called 
"the  Captain," — a  bragging,  lazy, 
good-natured  old  man,  —  not  a  repu- 
table captain,  —  and  very  cheerful, 
though  tlie  conduct  of  his  children, 
he  said,  had  repeatedly  broken  his 
heart 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  the 
Little  Sister  had  been  on  duty  when 
Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet  fever. 
It  befell  him  at  the  end  of  the  term, 
just  when  all  the  boys  were  going 
home.  His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife 
wanted  their  holidays,  and  sent  their 
own  children  out  of  the  way.  As 
Phil's  father  was  absent,  Dr.  Good- 
enough  came,  and  sent  his  nurse  in. 
The  case  grew  worse,  so  bad  that  Dr. 
Firmin  was  summoned  from  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  and  arrived  one  evening 
at  Greyfriars,  —  Greyfriars  so  silent 
now,  so  noisy  at  other  times  with  the 
shouts  and  crowds  of  the  playground. 

Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at 
the  door  when  Dr.  Firmin 's  carriage 
drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy  f  " 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had 
been  wrong  in  the  head  all  day, 
talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like," 
the  servant  said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which 
were  several  empty  beds  of  boys  gi>ne 
home  for  the  holidays.     The  windows 


were  opened  into  Greyfriars  Square. 
Goodenough  heard  his  colleague's 
carriage  drive  up,  and  rightly  divined 
that  Phil's  father  had  arrived.  He 
came  out,  and  met  Firmin  in  the 
anteroom. 

"  Head  has  wandered  a  little. 
Better  now,  and  quiet "  ;  and  the  one 
doctor  murmured  to  the  other  the 
treatment  which  he  had  pursued. 

I'irmin  stepped  in  gently  towards 
the  patient,  near  whose  side  the  Little 
Sister  was  standing. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  said  Phil. 

"  It  is  I,  dear.  Your  father,"  said 
Dr.  F'irrain,  with  real  tenderness  in 
his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round 
once,  and  fell  down  like  a  stone  by 
the  bedside. 

"  You  infernal  vUlain  !  "  said  Good- 
enough,  with  an  oath,  and  a  step 
forward.     "  You  are  the  man  !  " 

"  Hush !  The  patient,  if  you 
please,  Dr.  Groodenough, "  said  the 
other  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   GENTEEL   FAMILY. 

Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on 
the  question  of  seeming  and  being  in 
the  world  ?  I  mean,  suppose  you  are 
poor,  is  it  right  for  you  to  seem  to  be 
well  off"?  Have  people  an  honest 
right  to  keep  up  appearances  1  Are 
you  justified  in  starving  your  dinner- 
table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage  ;  to 
have  such  an  expensive  house  that 
you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a 
poor  relation  ;  to  an-ay  your  daugh- 
ters in  costly  milliners'  wares  because 
they  live  with  girls  whose  parents  are 
twii-e  as  rich  f  Sometimes  it  is  hard 
to  say  where  honest  pride  ends  and 
hypocrisy  begins.  To  obtrude  your 
poverty  is  mean  and  slavish  ;  as  it  is 
odious  for  a  beggar  to  ask  compas- 
sion by  showing  his  sores.  But  to 
simulate  prosjjerity,  —  to  be  wealthy 
and  lavish  thrice  a  year  when  yoi 
ask  your  friends,  and  for  the  rest  of 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


87 


the  time  to  manch  a  crust  and  sit  by 
one  candle,  —  are  the  folks  who  prac- 
tise this  deceit  worthy  of  applause  or 
a  whipping  ?  Sometimes  it  is  noble 
pride,  sometimes  shabby  swindling. 
When  I  see  Eugenia  with  her  dear 
children  exquisitely  neat  and  cheer- 
ful ;  not  showing  the  slightest  sem- 
blance of  poverty,  or  uttering  the 
smallest  complaint ;  persisting  that 
Squanderfield,  her  husband,  treats 
her  well,  and  is  good  at  heart ;  and 
denying  that  he  leaves  her  and  her 
young  ones  in  want;  I  admire  and 
reverence  that  noble  falsehood,  —  that 
beautiful  constancy  and  endurance 
which  disdains  to  ask  compassion. 
When  I  sit  at  poor  Jezebella's  table, 
and  am  treated  to  her  sham  bounties 
and  shabby  splendor,  I  only  feel  an- 
ger for  the  hospitality,  and  that  din- 
ner, and  guest,  and  host,  are  humbugs 
together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is 
large,  and  the  guests  most  respect- 
able. There  is  always  a  big-wig  or 
two  present,  and  a  dining  dowager 
who  frequents  the  greatest  houses. 
There  is  a  butler  who  offers  you 
wine ;  there  's  a  menu  du  diner  before 
Mrs.  Twysden ;  and  to  read  it  you 
would  fancy  you  were  at  a  good  din- 
ner. It  tastes  of  chopped  straw.  O, 
the  dreary  sparkle  of  that  feeble 
champagne ;  the  audacity  of  that 
public-house  sherry ;  the  swindle  of 
that  acrid  claret ;  the  fiery  twang  of 
that  clammy  port !  I  have  tried  them 
all,  I  tell  you !  It  is  sham  wine,  a 
sham  dinner,  a  sham  welcome,  a 
sham  cheerfulness  among  the  guests 
assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman 
eyes  and  counts  the  cutlets  as  they 
are  carried  off  the  tables ;  perhaps 
watches  that  one  which  you  try  to 
swallow.  She  has  counted  and 
grudged  each  candle  by  which  the 
cook  prepares  the  meal.  Does  her 
big  coachman  fatten  himself  on  pur- 
loined oats  and  beans,  and  Thorley's 
food  for  cattle?  Of  the  rinsings  of 
those  wretched  bottles  the  butler  will 
have  to  give  a  reckoning  in  the  mom- 
duff     Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great 


monde,  Twysden  and  his  wife  think 
themselves  better  than  you  are,  and 
seriously  patronize  you.  They  con- 
sider it  is  a  privilege  to  be  invited  to 
those  horrible  meals  to  which  they 
gravely  ask  the  greatest  folks  in  the 
country.  I  actually  met  Winton 
there, —  the  famous  Winton,  —  the 
best  dinner-giver  in  the  world,  (ah, 
what  a  position  for  man  ! )  I  watched 
him,  and  marked  the  sort  of  wonder 
which  came  over  him  as  he  tasted 
and  sent  away  dish  after  dish,  glass 
after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chateau 
Margaux,  Winton ! "  calls  out  the 
host.  "  It  is  some  that  Bottleby  and 
I  imported."  Imported  !  I  see  Win- 
ton's  face  as  he  tastes  the  wine,  and 
puts  it  down.  He  does  not  like  to 
talk  about  that  dinner.  He  has  lost 
a  day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask 
him  every  year  ;  will  continue  to  ex- 
pect to  be  asked  in  return,  with  Mrs. 
Twysden  and  one  of  his  daughters  ; 
and  will  express  his  surprise  loudly 
at  the  club,  saying,  "  Hang  Winton  ! 
Deuce  take  the  fellow  !  He  has  sent 
me  no  game  this  year  !  "  When  for- 
eign dukes  and  princes  arrive,  Twys- 
den straightway  collars  them,  and  in- 
vites them  to  his  house.  And  some- 
times they  go  once,  —  and  then  ask, 
"  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur  Tvisden,  qui 
est  si  drole  1 "  And  he  elbows  his 
way  up  to  them  at  the  Minister's  as- 
semblies, and  frankly  gives  them  his 
hand.  And  calm  Mrs.  Twysden 
wriggles,  and  works,  and  slides,  and 
pushes,  and  tramples  if  need  be,  her 
girls  following  behind  her,  until  she 
too  has  come  up  under  the  eyes  of  the 
great  man,  and  bestowed  on  him  a 
smile  and  a  courtesy.  Twysden 
grasps  prosperity  cordially  by  the 
hand.  He  says  to  success,  "  Bravo  !  " 
On  the  contrary,  I  never  saw  a  man 
more  resolute  in  not  knowing  unfor- 
tunate people,  or  more  daringly  for- 
getful of  those  whom  he  does  not  care 
to  remember.  If  this  Levite  met  a 
wayfarer,  going  down  from  Jerusa- 
lem, who  had  fallen  among  thieves, 
do  you  think  he  would  stop  to  rescue 
the  fallen  man  ?     He  would  neither 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


give  wine,  nor  oil,  nor  money.  He 
would  pass  on  perfectly  satisfied  with 
his  own  virtue,  and  leave  the  other  to 
go,  as  best  he  might,  to  Jericho. 

What  is  this  ?  Am  I  angry  be- 
cause Twysden  has  left  off  asking  me 
to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  hay  1  No. 
I  think  not.  Am  I  hurt  because  Mrs. 
Twysden  sometimes  patronizes  my 
wife,  and  sometimes  cuts  her  ] 
I'erhaps.  Only  women  thoroughly 
know  the  insolence  of  women  towards 
one  another  in  the  world.  That  is  a 
vsry  stale  remark.  They  receive  and 
deliver  stabs,  smiling  politely.  Tom 
H  lycrs  could  not  take  punishment 
uure  gayly  than  they  do.  If  you 
could  but  see  under  the  skin,  you 
would  find  their  little  hearts  scarred 
all  over  with  little  lancJt  digs.  I 
protest  I  have  seen  my  own  wife 
enduring  the  impertinence  of  this 
woman,  with  a  face  as  calm  and 
placid  as  she  wears  when  old  Twysden 
himself  is  talking  to  her,  and  pouring 
out  one  of  his  maddening  long  stories. 
O  no !  I  am  not  angry  at  all.  I 
can  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  I  am 
writing  of  these  folks.  By  the  way, 
whilst  1  am  giving  this  candid  opinion 
of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  somsdmes 
pause  to  consider  what  they  think  of 
ine  ?  What  do  I  care  ?  Think  what 
you  like.  Meanwhile  we  bow  to  one 
another  at  parties.  We  smile  at  each 
othjr  in  a  sickly  way.  And  a^  for 
the  dinners  in  Beaunash  Street,  I 
hope  those  who  eat  them  enjoy  their 
food. 

Twysden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  now 
of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum  Office 
(the  Pigtail  branch  was  finally  abol- 
ished in  1833,  after  the  Reform  Bill, 
with  a  compensation  to  the  retiring 
under-secretary),  and  his  son  is  a 
clerk  in  the  same  office.  When  they 
cams  out,  the  daughters  were  very 
pretty,  —  even  my  wife  allows  that. 
One  of  them  used  to  ride  in  the  Park 
with  her  father  or  brother  daily  ;  and 
knowing  what  his  salary  and  wife's 
fortune  were,  and  what  the  rent  of  his 
house  in  Beaunash  Street,  everybody 
wondered  how  the  Twysdens  could 


make  both  ends  meet.  They  had 
horses,  carriages,  and  a  great  house 
fit  for  at  least  five  thousand  a  year ; 
they  had  not  half  as  much,  as  every- 
body knew ;  and  it  was  supjjosed 
that  old  Ringwood  must  make  his 
niece  an  allowance.  She  certainly 
worked  hard  to  get  it.  I  spoke  of 
stabs  anon,  and  poor  little  breasts 
and  sides  scarred  all  over.  No  nuns, 
no  monks,  no  fakirs,  take  whippings 
more  kindly  than  some  devotees  of 
the  world ;  and,  as  the  punishment  is 
one  for  eidification,  let  us  hope  the 
world  lays  smartly  on  to  back  and 
shoulders,  and  uses  the  thong  well. 

When  old  Ringwood,  at  the  close 
of  liis  lifetime,  used  to  come  to  visit 
his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and 
children,  he  always  brought  a  cat-o'- 
nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and  ad- 
ministered it  to  the  whole  household. 
He  grinned  at  the  poverty,  the 
pretence,  the  meanness  of  the  people, 
as  they  knelt  before  him  and  did  him 
homage.  The  father  and  mother 
trembling  brought  the  girls  up  for 
punishment,  and,  piteoiisly  smiling, 
received  their  own  boxes  on  the  ear 
in  presence  of  their  children.  "  Ah ! " 
the  little  French  governess  nsed  to 
say,  grinding  her  white  teeth,  "  I  like 
milor  to  come.  All  day  you  vip  me. 
When  milor  come,  he  vip  you,  and 
you  kneel  down  and  kiss  de  rod." 

They  certainly  knelt  and  took  their 
whipping  with  the  most  exemplary 
fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell 
on  papa's  back,  sometimes  on  mam- 
ma's :  now  it  stung  Agnes,  and  now 
it  lighted  on  Blanche's  pretty  shoul- 
ders. But  I  think  it  was  on  the  heir 
of  the  house,  young  Rinurwood 
Twysden,  that  my  Lord  loved  best  to 
operate.  Ring's  vanity  was  very  thin- 
skinned,  his  selfishness  easily  wound- 
ed, and  fiis  contortions  under  punish- 
ment amused  the  old  tormentor. 

As  my  Lord's  brougham  drives  up 
— the  modest  little  brown  brougham, 
with  the  noble  horse,  the  lord  chan- 
cellor of  a  coachman,  and  the  ineffable 
footman,  —  the  ladies,  who  know  the 
whir    of   the    wheels,   and    may  bo 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


89 


quarrelling  in  the  drawing-room,  call 
a  truce  to  the  fight,  and  smooth  down 
their  ruffled  tempers  and  raiment. 
Mamma  is  writing  at  her  table,  in 
that  beautiful,  clear  hand  which  we 
all  admire;  Blanche  is  at  her  book  ; 
Agnes  is  rising  from  the  piano  quite 
naturally.  A  quarrel  between  those 
gentle,  smiling,  delicate  creatures  I 
Impossible  !  About  your  most  com- 
mon piece  of  hypocrisy  how  men  will 
blush  and  bungle :  how  easily,  how 
gracefully,  how  consummately,  wo- 
men will  perform  it ! 

"  Well,"  growls  my  Lord,  "  you 
are  all  in  sucli  pretty  attitudes,  I 
make  no  doubt  you  have  been  spar- 
ring. I  suspect,  Maria,  the  men 
must  know  wbat  devilish  bad  tempers 
the  gills  have  got.  Who  can  have 
seen  you  fighting'?  You  're  quiet 
enough  here,  you  little  monkeys.  I 
tell  you  what  it  is.  Ladies'-maids 
get  about  and  talk  to  the  valets  in 
the  housekeeper's  room,  and  the  men 
tell  their  masters.  Upon  my  word  I 
believe  it  was  that  business  last  year 
at  Whipham  which  frightened  Green- 
wood off.  Famous  match.  Good 
house  in  town  and  country.  No 
mother  alive.  Agnes  might  have 
had  it  her  own  way,  but  for  that  —  " 

"  We  are  not  all  angels  in  our 
family,  uncle !  "  cries  Miss  Agnes, 
reddening. 

"  And  your  mother  is  too  sharp. 
The  men  are  afraid  of  you,  Maria. 
I  've  heard  several  young  men  say  so. 
At  White's  they  talk  about  it  quite 
freely.  Pity  for  the  girls.  Great 
pity.  Fellows  come  and  tell  me. 
Jack  Hall,  and  fellows  who  go  about 
everywhere." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  Cap- 
tain Hall  says  about  me,  —  odious 
little  wretch ! "  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  you  go  off  in  a  tantrum  ! 
Hall  never  has  any  opinion  of  his 
own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries 
what  other  people  say.  And  he  says, 
fellows  say  they  are  frightened  of 
vour  mother.  La  bless  you !  Hall 
ias  no  opinion.  A  fellow  might 
commit  murder,  and  Hall  would  wait 


at  the  door.  Quite  a  discreet  man. 
But  I  tuld  him  to  ask  about  you. 
And  that  's  what  I  hear.  And  he 
says  that  Agnes  is  making  eyes  at 
tlic  Doctor's  boy." 

"  It 's  a  shame,"  cries  Agnes,  shed- 
ding tears  under  her  martyrdom. 

"  Older  than  he  is  ;  but  that 's  no 
obstacle.  Good-looking  boy,  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  object  to  that  7  Has 
his  poor  mother's  money,  and  his 
father's :  must  be  well  .to  do.  A 
vulgar  fellow,  but  a  clever  fellow,  and 
a  determined  fellow,  the  Doctor, —  and 
a  fellow  who,  I  suspect,  is  capable  of 
anything.  Should  n't  wonder  at  that 
fellow  marrying  some  rich  dowager. 
Those  doctors  get  an  immense  in- 
fluence over  women ;  and  unless  I  'ni 
mistaken  in  my  man,  Maria,  your 
poor  sister  got  hold  of  a  —  " 

"  Uncle !  "  cries  Mrs.  Twysden, 
pointing  to  her  daughters,  "  before 
these  —  " 

"  Before  those  innocent  lambs ! 
Hem!  Well,  I  think  Firmin  is  of 
the  wolf  sort "  :  and  the  old  noble 
laughed,  and  showed  his  own  fierce 
fangs  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  my  Lord,  I  agree 
with  you,"  remarks  Mr.  Twysden. 
"  I  don't  think  Firmin  a  man  of  high 
principle.  A  clever  man  1  Yes.  An 
accomplished  man  ?  Yes.  A  good 
physician  f  Yes.  A  prosperous 
man  f  Yes.  But  what  's  a  man 
without  principle '?  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson, 
Twysden." 

"  Others  have  said  so,  my  Lord. 
My  poor  mother  often  regretted  that 
I  did  n't  choose  the  Church.  When 
I  was  at  Cambridge  I  used  to  speak 
constantly  at  the  Union.  I  practised. 
I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that  ray 
aim  was  public  life.  I  am  free  to 
confess  I  think  the  House  of  Com- 
mons would  have  been  my  sphere ; 
and,  had  my  means  permitted,  should 
certainly  have  come  forward." 

Lord  Ringwood  smiled,  and  wink- 
ed to  his  niece,  — 

"  He  means,  my  dear,  that  lie  would 
like  to  wag  his  jaws  at  my  expense. 


90 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


and  that  I  should  pat  him  in  for 

Whipham." 

"  There  aft,  I  think,  worse  mem- 
bers of  Parliament,"  remarked  Mr. 
Twysden. 

"  If  there  was  a  box  of  'em  like 
you,  what  a  cage  it  would  be  !  "  roar- 
ed ray  Lord.  "  By  George,  I  'm  sick 
of  jaw.  And  I  would  like  to  see  a 
king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who 
would  shut  up  the  talking-shops  and 
gag  the  whole  chattering  crew !  " 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order,  —  but  a 
lover  of  freedom,"  continues  Twysden. 
"  I  hold  that  the  balance  of  our  con- 
stitution —  " 

I  think  my  Lord  would  have  in- 
dulged in  a  few  of  those  oaths  with 
which  his  old-fashioned  conversation 
was  liberally  garnished  ;  but  the  ser- 
vant, entering  at  this  moment,  an- 
nounces Mr.  Philip  Firmin  ;  and  ever 
so  faint  a  blush  flutters  up  in  Agnes's 
cheek,  who  feels  that  the  old  lord's 
eye  is  upon  her. 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera 
last  night,"  says  Lord  Ringwood. 

"  I  saw  you,  too,"  says  downright 
PhiL 

The  women  looked  terrified,  and 
Twysden  scared.  The  Twj'sdens 
had  Lord  Ringwood's  box  sometimes. 
But  there  were  boxes  in  which  the 
old  man  sat,  and  in  which  they  never 
could  see  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage, 
sir,  when  you  ^o  to  the  Opera,  and 
not  at  me  ?  When  you  go  to  church 
you  ought  to  look  at  the  parson, 
ought  n't  you  ? "  growled  the  old 
man.  "  I  'm  about  as  good  to  look 
at  as  the  fellow  who  dances  first 
in  the  ballet,  —  and  very  nearly  as 
old.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
think  looking  at  the  Ellsler  better 
fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  what 
old,  old  times  we  are  writing, —  times 
in  which  those  horrible  old  male 
dancers  yet  existed  —  hideous  old 
creatures,  with  low  dresses  and  short 
sleeves,  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  or 
hats  and  feathers  round  their  absurd 
old  wigs  —  who  skipped  at  the  head 


of  the  ballet.  Let  us  be  thankful 
that  those  old  apes  have  almost  van- 
ished ofi"  the  stage,  and  left  it  in  pos- 
session of  the  beauteous  bounders  of 
the  other  sex.  Ah,  mv  dear  young 
friends,  time  will  be  when  these  too 
will  cease  to  appear  more  than  mor- 
tally beautiful !  To  Philip,  at  his 
age,  they  yet  looked  as  lovely  as 
houris.  At  this  time  the  simple 
young  fellow,  surveying  the  ballet 
from  his  stall  at  the  Opera,  mistook 
carmine  for  blushes,  pearl-powder  for 
native  snows,  and  cotton-wool  for 
natural  symmetry ;  and  I  dare  say 
when  he  went  into  the  world  was  not 
more  clear-sighted  about  its  rouged 
innocence,  its  padded  pretensions, 
and  its  painted  candor. 

Old  Lord  Ringwood  had  a  humor- 
ous pleasure  in  petting  and  coaxing 
Philip  Firmin  before  Philip's  relatives 
of  Beaunash  Street.  Even  the  girls 
felt  a  little  plaintive  envy  at  the  par- 
tiality which  Uncle  Ringwood  exhibit- 
ed for  Phil ;  but  the  elder  Twysdens 
and  Ringwood  Twysden,  their  son, 
writhed  with  agony  at  the  preference 
which  the  old  man  sometimes  showed 
for  the  Doctor's  boy.  Phil  was  much 
taller,  much  handsomer,  much  strong- 
er, much  better  tempered,  and  much 
richer,  than  young  Twysden.  He 
would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his 
father's  fortune,  and  had  his  mother's 
thirty  thousand  pounds.  Even  when 
they  told  him  his  father  would  marry 
again,  Phil  laughed,  and  did  not 
seem  to  care,  — "I  wish  him  joy  of 
his  new  wife,"  was  all  he  could  be 
got  to  say ;  "  when  he  gets  one,  I 
suppose  I  shall  go  into  chambers. 
Old  Parr  Street  is  not  as  gay  as  Pall 
Mall."  I  am  not  angry  with  Mrs. 
Twysden  for  having  a  little  jealousy 
of  her  nephew.  Her  boy  and  girls 
were  the  fruit  of  a  dutiful  marriage  ; 
and  Phil  was  the  son  of  a  disobedient 
child.  Her  children  were  always  on 
their  best  behavior  before  their  great 
uncle ;  and  Phil  cared  for  him  no 
more  than  for  any  other  man  ;  and 
he  liked  Phil  the  best.  Her  bov  waa 
as  humble  and  eager  to  please  an  an/ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


91 


of  his  Lordship's  humblest  henchmen ; 
and  Lord  Ringwood  snapped  at  him, 
browbeat  him,  and  trampled  on  the 
poor  darling's  tenderest  feelings,  and 
treated  him  scarcely  better  than  a 
lackey.  As  for  poor  Mr.  Twysden, 
my  Lord  not  only  yawned  unreserved- 
ly in  his  face  —  that  could  not  be 
helped  ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  set  many 
of  his  acquaintance  asleep  —  but 
laughed  at  him,  interrupted  him,  and 
told  him  to  hold  his  tongue.  On  this 
day,  as  the  family  sat  together  at  the 

Eleasant  hour,  —  the  before  -  dinner 
our,  —  the  fireside  and  tea  -  table 
hour,  —  Lord  Ringwood  said  to 
Phil,— 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir"?  " 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  me,  with 
my  powers  of  conversation  ?  "  thought 
old  Twysden  to  himself. 

"  Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that 
beggar,"  writhed  young  Twysden,  in 
his  comer. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come. 
Have  asked  some  fellows  to  dine  at 
the  '  Blue  Posts,'  "  says  Phil. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  why  don't  you 
put  'em  oft'?"  cries  the  old  lord. 
"  You  'd  put  'em  off,  Twysden, 
would  n't  you  ?  " 

"  O  sir ! "  the  heart  of  father  and 
son  both  beat. 

"  You  know  you  would  ;  and  you 
quarrel  with  this  boy  for  not  throw- 
ing his  friends  over.  Good  night, 
Firmin,  since  you  won't  come." 

And  with  this  my  Lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house 
glumly  looked  from  the  window,  and 
saw  my  Lord's  brougham  drive  swiftly 
away  in  the  rain. 

"  I  hate  your  dining  at  those  hor- 
rid taverns,"  whispered  a  young  lady 
to  Philip. 

"It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at 
home,"  Philip  remarks. 

"  You  smoke  and  drink  too  much. 
You  come  home  late,  and  you  don't 
live  in  a  proper  monde,  sir !  "  continues 
the  young  lady. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  O,  nothing.  You  must  dine 
with    those     horrible    men,"    cries 


Agnes  ;  "  else  you  might  have  gone 
to  Lady  Pendleton's  to-night." 

"  I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily 
enough,  if  you  wish,"  answered  the 
young  man. 

"  I  ?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort. 
Have  you  not  already  refused  Uncle 
Ringwood  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood," 
says  Phil,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 
"  I  don't  know  there  is  much  I  would 
refuse  you." 

"  You  silly  boy  !  What  do  I  ever 
ask  you  to  do  that  you  ought  to  re- 
fuse? I  want  you  to  live  in  our 
world,  and  not  with  your  dreadful 
wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors. 
I  don't  want  you  to  smoke.  I  want 
you  to  go  into  the  world  of  which 
you  have  the  entree,  —  and  you  refuse 
your  uncle  on  account  of  some  horrid 
engagement  at  a  tavern  !  " 

"Shall  I  stop  here?  Aunt,  will 
you  give  me  some  dinner  —  here  1 " 
asks  the  young  man. 

"  We  have  dined  :  my  husband  and 
son  dine  out,"  said  gentle  Mrs. 
Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for 
the  ladies ;  and  Mrs.  Twysden  did 
not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  who  was 
accustomed  to  good  fare  and  high 
living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

"  You  sec  I  must  console  myself  at 
the  tavern,"  Philip  said.  "  We  shall 
have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"  And  pray  who  makes  it  ?  "  asks 
the  lady. 

"  There  is  Ridley  the  painter." 

"  My  dear  Philip  !  Do  you  know 
that  his  father  was  actually  —  " 

"  In  the  service  of  Lord  Todmor- 
den  ?  He  often  tells  us  so.  He  is  a 
queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  Mr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius, 
certainly.  His  pictures  are  delicious, 
and  he  goes  everywhere,  —  but  —  but 
you  provoke  me,  Philip,  by  your  care- 
lessness ;  indeed  you  do.  Why  should 
you  be  dining  with  the  sons  of  foot- 
men, when  the  first  houses  in  the 
country  might  be  open  to  you  ?  Y^ou 
pain  me,  you  foolish  boy." 

"  For  dining  in  company  of  a  mau 


92 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


of  genius  ?  Come,  Agnes  ! "  And 
the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark. 
"Besides,"  he  added,  with  a  tone  of 
sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which  Miss 
Agnes  did  not  like  at  all,  —  "  besides, 
my  dear,  you  know  he  dines  at  Lord 
Pendleton's." 

"  Wh:it  is  that  you  are  talking  of 
Lady  Pendleton,  children?"  asked 
watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going 
to  dine  with  me  at  a  tavern  to-day. 
And  Lord  Halden  is  coming  —  and 
Mr.  Winton  is  coming  —  having 
heard  of  the  famous  beefsteaks." 

"  Winton !  Lord  Halden !  Beefsteaks ! 
Where?  By  George!  I  have  a  mind  to 
go,  too !  Where  do  you  fellows  dine  7 
au  cabaret  ?  Hang  me,  I  '11  be  one," 
shrieked  little  Twysden,  to  the  terror 
of  Philip,  who  knew  his  uncle's  awful 
powers  of  conversation.  But  Twys- 
den remembered  himself  in  good  time, 
and  to  the  intense  relief  of  3'oung 
Firmin.  "  Hang  me,  I  forgot !  Your 
aunt  and  I  dine  with  the  Bladeses. 
Stupid  old  fellow,  the  admiral,  and 
bad  wme  —  which  is  unpardonable ; 
but  we  must  go  —  on  n'a  que  sa  pa- 


meditated  joining  him,  and  that  I 
have  still  some  of  that  Chateau  Mar- 
gaux  he  liked.  Halden's  father  I  know 
well.     Tell  him  so.    Bring  him  here. 


know  how  young  Firmin  had  offered 
to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  day  after 
refusing  his  Lordship.  And  every- 
thing to  Phil's  discredit,  and  every 
act  of  extravagance  or  wildness  which 
the  young  man  committed,  did  Phil's 
uncle,  and  Phil's  cousin  Ringwood 
Twysden,  convey  to  the  old  noble- 
man. Had  not  these  been  the  inform- 
ers, Lord  Ringwood  would  have  been 
angry  :  for  he  exacted  obedience  and 
servility  from  all  round  about  him. 
But  it  was  pleasanter  to  vex  the 
Twysdens  than  to  scold  and  browbeat 
Philip,  and  so  his  Lordship  chose  to 
laugh  and  be  amused  at  Phil's  insub- 
ordination. He  saw,  too,  other  things 
of  which  he  did  not  speak.  He  was 
a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to 
be  blind  upon  occasion. 

What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact 
that  Philip  was  ready  to  make  or 
break  engagements  at  a  young  lady's 
instigation  ?  When  you  were  twenty 
years  old,  had  no  young  ladies  an  in- 
fluence over  you  ?  Were  they  not 
commonly  older  than  yourself?  Did 
your  youthful  passion  lead  to  any- 
thing, and  are  you  very  sorry  now 


role,  hey?     Tell  Winton  that  I  had    that  it  did  not?      Suppose  you  had 

had  your  soul's  wish  and  married  her, 
of  what  age  would  she  be  now  ?  And 
now  when  you  go  into  the  world  and 
see  her,  do  you  on  your  conscience 


Maria,  send  a  Thursday  card  to  Lord  j  very  much  regret  that  the  little  affair 

came  to  an  end  ?  Ls  it  that  (lean,  or 
fat,  or  stumpy,  or  tall )  woman  with 
all  those  children  whom  you  once 
chose  to  break  your  heart  about ;  and 
do  you  still  envy  Jones  ?  Philip  was 
in  love  with  his  cousin,  no  doubt,  but 
at  the  University  had  he  not  been  pre- 
viously in  love  with  the  Tomkinsian 
professor's  daughter,  Miss  Budd  ;  and 
had  he  not  already  written  verses  to 
Miss  Flower,  his  neighbor's  daughter 
in  Old  Parr  Street?  And  don't 
young  men  always  begin  by  falling 
in  love  with  ladies  older  than  them- 
selves ?  Agnes  certainly  was  Philip's 
senior,  as  her  sister  constantly  took 


Halden !  You  must  bring  him  here 
to  dinner,  Philip.  That's  the  best 
way  to  make  acquaintance,  my  boy !  " 
And  the  little  man  swaggers  off, 
waving  a  bed-candle,  as  if  he  was 
going  to  quaff  a  bumper  of  sparkling 
eperinaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  person- 
ages as  Lord  Halden  and  Mr.  Win- 
ton silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pen- 
sive Agnes. 

"  You  won't  care  for  our  quiet  fire- 
side whilst  you  live  with  those  fine 
people,  Philip,"  she  sighed.  There 
was  no  talk  now  of  his  throwing  him- 
self away  on  bad  company 


So  Philip  did  not  dine  with  his  rel-    care  to  inform  him. 
atives:    but    Talbot    Twysilcn   took        And  A<rncs  might  have  told  stories 
good  care    to    let    Lord    Ringwood  ;  about  Blanche,  if  she  chose,  —  as  yoa 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


93 


may  about  me,  and  I  about  rou.  Not 
quite  true  stories,  hut  storio.s  witli 
enoufrli  alloy  of  lies  to  make  thtin 
serviceable  coin ;  stories  such  as  we 
hear  daily  in  the  world  ;  stories  such 
as  we  read  in  the  most  learned  and 
conscientious  history-books,  which 
are  told  by  the  most  respectable  jier- 
sons,  and  perfectly  authentic  until 
contradicted.  It  is  only  our  histories 
that  can't  be  contradicted  (unless,  to 
be  sure,  novelists  contradict  them- 
selves, as  sometimes  they  will).  What 
we  say  about  people's  virtues,  failings, 
characters,  you  may  be  sure  is  all 
true.  And  I  defy  any  man  to  assert 
that  my  opinion  of  the  Twysdcn 
family  is  malicious,  or  unkind,  or 
unfounded  in  any  particular.  Agnes 
wrote  verses,  and  set  her  own  and 
other  writers'  poems  to  music. 
Blanche  was  scientific,  and  attended 
the  Albemarle  Street  lectures  sedu- 
lously. They  are  both  clever  women 
as  times  go ;  well  educated  and 
accomplished,  and  very  well  man- 
nered when  they  choose  to  be 
pleasant.  If  you  were  a  bachelor, 
say,  with  a  good  fortune,  or  a  widow- 
er who  wanted  consolation,  or  a  lady 
giving  very  good  parties  and  belong- 
ing to  the  monde,  you  would  find 
them  agreeable  people.  If  you  were 
a  little  Treasury  clerk,  or  a  young 
barrister  with  no  practice,  or  a  lady, 
old  or  young,  not  quite  of  the  monde, 
your  opinion  of  them  would  not  be  so 
favorable.  I  have  seen  them  cut,  and 
scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and 
kneel  down  and  worship  the  same 
person.  When  Mrs.  Lovel  first  gave 
parties,  don't  I  remember  the  shocked 
countenances  of  the  Twysden  family  ? 
Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than 
yours,  dear  girls  1  Now  they  love 
ner;  they  fondle  her  step  -  children  ; 
they  praise  her  to  her  face  and  be- 
hind her  handsome  back  ;  they  take 
her  hand  in  public;  they  call  her  by 
her  Christian  name ;  they  fall  into  ecs- 
tasies over  her  toilets,  and  would  fetch 
coals  for  her  dressing-room  fire  if  she 
but  gave  them  the  word.  She  is  not 
changed.     She  is  the  same  lady  who 


once  was  a  governess,  and  no  colder 
and  no  warmer  since  then.  But  \ou 
sec  iicr  prosperity  has  brought  virtues 
into  evidence,  which  people  did  not 
perceive  when  she  was  poor.  Could 
people  see  Cinderella's  beauty  when 
she  was  in  rags  by  the  fire,  or  until 
she  stepped  out  of  her  lairy  coach  in 
her  diamonds  ?  How  are  you  to  rec- 
ognize a  diamond  in  a  dust-hole? 
Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do  that. 
Whereas  a  lady  in  a  fairy  coach  and 
eight  naturally  creates  a  sensation ; 
and  enraptured  princes  come  and  beg 
to  have  the  honor  of  dancing  with 
her. 

In  the  character  of  infallible  histo- 
rian, then,  I  declare  that  if  Miss 
Twysden  at  three  -  and  -  twenty  feels 
ever  so  much  or  little  attachment  for 
her  cousin  who  is  not  yet  of  age, 
there  is  no  reason  to  be  angry  with 
her.  A  brave,  handsome,  blundering, 
downright  young  fellow,  with  broad 
shoulders,  high  spirits,  and  quite 
fresh  blushes  on  his  face,  with  very 
good  talents  (though  he  has  been 
wofuUy  idle,  and  requested  to  absent 
himself  temporarily  i'rom  his  Univer- 
sity), the  possessor  of  a  competent 
fortune  and  the  heir  of  another,  may 
naturally  make  some  impression  on  a 
lady's  heart  with  whom  kinsmani-hip 
and  circumstance  biing  him  into  daily 
communion.  When  had  any  soi  nd 
so  hearty  as  Phil's  laugh  been  heard 
in  Beaunash  Street  ?  His  jolly  frank- 
ness touched  his  aunt,  a  clever  wo- 
man. She  would  smile  and  say,  "  My 
dear  Philip,  it  is  not  only  what  you 
say,  but  what  you  are  going  to  say 
next,  which  keeps  me  in  such  a  per- 
petual tremor."  There  may  have 
been  a  time  once  when  she  was  i'rank 
and  cordial  herself :  ever  so  long  ago, 
when  she  and  her  sister  were  two 
blooming  girls,  lovingly  clinging  to- 
gether, and  just  stepping  forth  into  the 
world.  But  if  you  succeed  in  keeping 
a  fine  house  on  a  smnll  income ;  in 
showing  a  cheerful  face  to  the  woild 
though  oppressed  with  ever  so  much 
care ;  in  bearing  with  dutiful  rever- 
ence an  intolerable  old  bore  of  a  hus- 


94 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


band  (and  I  vow  it  is  this  quality  in 
Mrs.  Twysden  for  which  I  most  ad- 
mire lier)  ;  in  submitting  to  defeats 
patiently ;  to  humiliations  with  smiles, 
so  as  to  hold  your  own  in  your  dar- 
ling monde;  you  may  succeed,  but 
you  must  give  up  being  frank  and 
cordial.  The  marriage  of  her  sister 
to  the  Doctor  gave  Alaria  Ringwood 
a  great  panic,  for  Lord  Ringwood  was 
furious  when  the  news  came.  Then, 
perhaps,  she  sacrificed  a  little  private 
passion  of  her  own :  then  she  set  her 
cap  at  a  noble  young  neighbor  of  my 
Lord's,  who  jilted  her ;  then  she  took 
up  with  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  of 
the  Powder  and  Pomatum  Office,  and 
made  a  very  faithful  wife  to  him,  and 
was  a  very  careful  mother  to  his  chil- 
dren. But  asfor  frankness  and  cordial- 
ity, my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady 
what  she  can  give  you,  —  good  man- 
ners, pleasant  talk,  and  decent  atten- 
tion. If  you  go  to  her  breakfast-table, 
don't  ask  for  a  roc's  egg,  but  eat  that 
moderately  fresh  hen's  egg  which 
John  brings  you.  When  Mrs.  Twys- 
den is  in  her  open  carriage  in  the 
Park,  how  prosperous,  handsome,  and 
jolly  she  looks,  —  the  girls  how 
smiling  and  young  (that  is,  you  know, 
considering  all  things)  ;  the  horses 
look  fat,  the  coachman  and  footman 
wealthy  and  sleek ;  they  exchange 
bows  with  the  tenants  of  other  car- 
riages, —  well  -  known  aristocrats. 
Jones  and  Brown,  leaning  over  the 
railings,  and  seeing  the  Twysden 
equipage  pass,  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  it  contains  people  of  the 
highest  wealth  and  fashion.  "  I  say, 
Jones,  my  boy,  what  noble  family  has 
the  motto,  Wei  done  Twys  done? 
and  what  clipping  girls  there  were  in 
that  barouche ! "  B.  remarks  to  J.  ; 
"  and  what  a  handsome  young  swell 
that  is  riding  the  bay  marc,  and  lean- 
ing over  and  talking  to  the  yellow- 
haired  girl !  "  And  it  is  evident  to 
one  of  those  gentlemen,  at  least,  that 
he  has  been  looking  at  your  regular 
first-rate  tiptop  people. 

As  for  Phil  Firrain  on  his  bay  mare, 
with  his  geranium  in  his  button-hole, 


there  is  no  doubt  that  Philippus  looks 
as   handsom.e,    and  as   rich,   and   as 
brave    as   any   lord.      And   I   think 
Brown  must  have  felt  a  little   pang 
when  his  friend  told  him,  "  That  a 
lord  !     Bless  you,  it  's  only  a  swell 
doctor's  son."     But  while  J.  and  B. 
fancy  all  the  little  party  very  happy, 
they  do  not  hear  Phil  whisper  to  liis 
cousin,  "  I  hope  you  liked  your  partner 
last  night  1 "  and  they  do  not  see  how 
anxious  Mrs.  Twysden  is  under  her 
smiles,    how   she    perceives    Colonel 
Shafto's  cab  coming  up  (the  dancer 
in   question),    and    how    she    would 
rather  have  Phil  anywhere  than  by 
that  particular  wheel  of  her  carritige ; 
how  Lady  Braglands  has  just  passed 
them  by  without    noticing  them,  — 
Lady  Braglands,  who  has  a  ball,  and 
is  determined  not  to  ask  that  woman 
[  and  her  two  endless  girls ;  and  how, 
!  though  Lady   Braglands   won't    see 
I  Mrs.  Twysden  in  her  great  staring 
equipage,  and  the  three  faces  which 
!  have  been  beaming  smiles  at  her,  she 
j  instantly  perceives  Lady  Lovel,  who 
j  is   passing  ensconced    in    her    little 
I  brougham,    and    kisses    her    fingers 
I  twenty  times  over.     How  should  poor 
j  J.  and  B.,  who  are  not,  vous  coinprenez, 
du    monde,     understand    these    mys- 
teries ■? 

"  That  's  young  Firmin,  is  it,  that 
handsome  young  fellow  1  "  says 
Brown  to  Jones. 

"  Doctor  married  the  Earl  of  Ring- 
wood's  niece,  —  ran  away  with  her, 
you  know." 

"  Good  practice  f  " 
"  Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tip- 
top people.  Great  ladies'  doctor. 
Can't  do  without  him.  Makes  a 
fortune,  besides  what  he  had  with  his 
wife." 

"  We  've  seen  his  name — the  old 
man's  —  on  some  very  queer  paper," 
says  B.  with  a  wink  to  J.  By  which 
I  conclude  they  are  City  gentlemen. 
And  they  look  very  hard  at  friend 
Piiilip,  as  he  comes  to  talk  and  shake 
hands  with  some  pedestrians  who  are 
gazing  over  the  railings  at  the  busy 
and  pleasant  Park  scene. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


95 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     NOBLE     KINSMAX. 

Having  had  occasion  to  mention  a 
nolile  earl  once  or  twice,  I  am  sure  no 
polite  reader  will  consent  that  his 
Lordship  should  push  through  this 
history  along  with  the  crowd  of  com- 
moner characters,  and  without  a 
special  word  regarding  himself.  If 
you  are  in  the  least  familiar  with 
Burke  or  Dcbrett,  you  know  that  the 
ancient  family  of  Kingwood  has  long 
been  famous  for  its  great  possessions, 
and  its  loyalty  to  the  British  Crown. 

In  the  troubles  which  unhappily 
agitated  this  kingdom  after  the  deposi- 
tion of  the  late  reigning  house,  the 
Kingwoods  were  implicated  with  many 
other  families,  but  on  the  accession  of 
his  Majesty  George  HI.  these  differen- 
ces happily  ended,  nor  had  the  monarch 
any  subject  more  loyal  and  devoted 
than  Sir  John  Rinjiwood,  Baronet, 
of  Wingate  and  Whipham  Market. 
Sir  John's  influence  sent  three 
Members  to  Parliament ;  and  during 
the  dangerous  and  vexatious  period 
of  the  American  war,  this  influence 
was  exerted  so  cordially  and  consist- 
ently in  the  cause  of  order  and  the 
crown,  that  his  Majesty  thought  fit  to 
advance  Sir  John  to  the  dignity  of 
Baron  Ringwood.  Sir  John's  brother. 
Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw, 
who  followed  the  profession  of  the  law, 
also  was  promoted  to  be  a  Baron  of 
his  Majesty's  Court  of  Exchequer. 
The  first  baron,  dying  A.D.  1786,  was 
succeeded  by  the  eldest  of  his  two 
sons,  —  John,  second  Baron  and 
first  Earl  of  Ringwood.  His  Lord- 
ship's brother,  the  Honorable  Colonel 
Philip  Ringwood,  died  gloriously,  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment  and  in  the 
defence  of  his  country,  in  the  battle 
ofBusaco,  1810,  leaving  two  daughters, 
Louisa  and  Maria,  who  henceforth 
lived  with  the  earl  their  uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Ringwood  had  but  one 
son,  Charles  Viscount  Cinqbars,  who, 
unhappily,  died  of  a  decline,  in  his 
twenty-second  year.  And  thus  the 
descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ringwood 


became  heirs  to  the  earl's  great  estates 
of  Wingate  and  Whipham  Msirket, 
though  not  of  the  peerages  which  had 
been  conferred  on  the  earl  and  his 
father. 

l^ord  Ringwood  had,  living  with 
him,  two  nieces,  daughiers  of  his  late 
brother,  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood, 
who  fell  in  the  Peninsular  War.  Of 
these  ladies,  the  youngest,  Louisa, 
was  his  Lordship's  favorite ;  and 
though  both  the  ladies  had  consider- 
able fortunes  of  their  own,  it  was 
supposed  their  uncle  would  further 
provide  for  them,  especially  as  he  was 
on  no  very  good  terms  with  his 
cousin,  Sir  John  of  the  Shaw,  who 
took  the  Whig  side  in  politics,  whilst 
his  Lordship  was  a  chief  of  the  Tory- 
party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  eldest, 
Maria,  never  any  great  favorite  with 
her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot 
Twysden,  Esq.,  a  Commissioner  of 
Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax;  but  the 
youngest,  Louisa,  incurred  my  Lord's 
most  serious  anger  by  eloping  with 
George  Brand  Firmin,  E.^q.,  M.D.,  a 
young  gentleman  of  Cambridge  Uni- 
versity, who  had  been  with  Lord 
Cinqbars  when  he  died  at  Naples, 
and  had  brought  home  his  body  to 
Wingate  Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  youngest 
niece,  and  the  indifference  with  which 
he  generally  regarded  the  elder  (whom 
his  Lordship  was  in  the  habit  of  call- 
ing an  old  schemer},  occasioned  at 
first  a  little  rapprwhenunt  between 
Lord  Ringwood  and  his  heir,  bir 
John  of  Appleshaw ;  but  both  gentle- 
men were  very  firm,  not  to  say  ob- 
stinate in  their  natures.  They  had  a 
quarrel  with  respect  to  the  cutting  off 
of  a  small  entailed  property,  of  which 
the  earl  wished  to  dispose ;  and 
they  parted  with  much  rancor  and 
bad  language  on  his  Lordship's  part, 
who  was  an  especially  free-spoken 
nobleman,  and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a 
spade,  as  the  sayftig  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite 
his  heir,  it  was  supposed  that  the 
Earl  of  Ringwood  would  marry.     He 


96 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Was  little  more  than  seventy  years  of 
age,  and  had  once  been  of  a  very  ro- 
bust constitution.  And  though  his 
temper  was  violent  and  his  person  not 
at  all  agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence's  picture  his  coun- 
tenance is  very  ill-favored),  there  is 
little  doubt  he  could  have  found  a 
wife  for  the  asking  among  the  young 
beauties  of  his  own  county,  or  the 
fairest  of  May  Fair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman, 
and  perhaps  morbidly  conscious  of 
his  own  ungainly  appearance.  "  Of 
course  I  can  buy  a  wife"  (his  Lord- 
ship would  say).  "  Do  you  suppose 
people  won't  sell  their  daughters  to  a 
man  of  my  rank  and  means  1  Now 
look  at  me,  my  good  sir,  and  say 
whether  any  woman  alive  could  fall 
in  love  with  me  ?  I  have  been  mar- 
ried, and  once  was  enough.  I  hate 
ugly  women,  and  your  virtuous 
women,  who  tremble  and  cry  in  pri- 
vate, and  preach  at  a  man,  bore  him. 
Sir  John  Ringwood  of  Applesliaw  is 
an  ass,  and  I  hate  him ;  but  I  don't 
hate  him  enough  to  make  myself  mis- 
erable for  the  rest  of  ray  days,  in  or- 
der to  spite  him.  When  I  drop,  I 
drop.  Do  you  suppose  I  care  what 
comes  after  me  ?  "  And  with  much 
sardonical  humor  this  old  lord  used 
to  play  off  one  good  dowager  after 
another  who  would  bring  her  girl  in 
his  way.  He  would  send  pearls  to 
Emily,  diamonds  to  Fanny,  opera- 
bo.xes  to  lively  Kate,  books  of  devo- 
tion to  pious  Selinda,  and,  at  the 
season's  end,  drive  back  to  his  lonely 
great  castle  in  the  west.  They  were 
all  the  same,  such  was  his  Lordship's 
opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  cor- 
rupt old  gentleman,  my  dears.  But 
ah,  would  not  a  woman  submit  to 
some  sacrifices  to  reclaim  that  unhap- 
py man  ;  to  lead  that  gifted  but  lost 
being  into  the  ways  of  right ;  to  con- 
vert to  a  belief  in  woman's  purity 
that  eri'ing  soul  ?  They  tried  him 
with  high-church  altar-cloths  for  his 
chapel  at  Wingate ;  they  tried  him 
with  low-church  tracts  ;  they  danced 
before  him ;   they  jumped  fences  on 


horseback ;  they  wore  bandeaux  or 
ringlets,  according  as  his  taste  dic- 
tated ;  they  were  always  at  home 
when  he  called,  and  poor  you  and  I 
were  gruffly  told  they  were  engaged ; 
they  gushed  in  gratitude  over  his 
bouquets  ;  they  sang  for  him,  and 
their  mothers,  concealing  their  sobs, 
murmured,  "  What  an  angel  that 
Cecilia  of  mine  is  !  "  Every  variety 
of  delicious  chaff  they  flung  to  that 
old  bird.  Bat  he  was  uncaught  at 
the  end  of  the  season  :  he  winged  his 
way  back  to  his  western  hills.  And 
if  you  dared  to  say  that  Mrs.  Netley 
had  tried  to  take  him,  or  Lady  Trap- 
boys  had  set  a  snare  for  him,  you 
know  you  were  a  wicked,  gross  ca- 
lumniator, and  notorious  everywhere 
for  your  dull  and  vulgar  abuse  of 
women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1830,  it  happened 
that  this  great  nobleman  was  seized 
with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  had  very 
nearly  consigned  his  estates  to  his 
kinsman  the  Baronet  of  Appleshaw. 
A  revolution  took  place  in  a  neigh- 
boring State.  An  illustrious  reign- 
ing family  was  expelled  from  its  coun- 
try, and  projects  of  reform  (which 
would  pretty  certainly  end  in  revolu- 
tion) were  rife  in  ours.  The  events 
in  France,  and  those  pending  at 
home,  so  agitated  Lord  Ringwood's 
mind,  that  he  was  attacked  by  one 
of  the  severest  fits  of  gout  under 
which  he  ever  suffered.  His  shrieks, 
as  he  was  brought  out  of  his  yaeht  at 
Ryd !  to  a  house  taken  for  him  in  the 
town,  were  dreadful ;  his  language  to 
all  persons  about  him  was  frightfully 
expressive,  as  Lady  Quamley  and  her 
daughter,  who  had  sailed  with  him 
several  times,  can  vouch.  An  ill  re- 
turn that  rude  old  man  made  for  all 
their  kindness  and  attention  to  him. 
They  had  danced  on  board  his  yacht; 
they  had  been  out  sailing  with  him, 
and  cheerfully  braved  the  inconven- 
iences of  the  deep  in  his  company. 
And  when  they  ran  to  the  side  of  his 
chair,  —  as  what  would  they  not  do 
to  soothe  an  old  gentleman  in  illness 
and  distress  1  —  when  they  ran  up  to 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


97 


his  chair  as  it  was  wheeled  along  the 
pier,  he  called  mother  and  daughter 
by  the  most  vulgar  and  opprobr.ons 
names,  and  roared  out  to  them  to  go 
to  a  place  which  I  certainly  shall  not 
more  particularly  mention. 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period, 
that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin  were  at 
Ryde  with  their  little  boy,  then  some 
three  years  of  age.  The  Doctor  was 
already  taking  his  place  as  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  physicians  then  in 
London,  and  had  begun  to  be  cele- 
brated for  the  treatment  of  this  espe- 
cial malady.  (Firmin  on  "  Gout  and 
Rheumatism "  was,  you  remember, 
dedicated  to  his  Majesty  George  IV.) 
Lord  liingwood's  valet  bethought 
him  of  calling  the  Doctor  in,  and 
mentioned  how  he  was  present  in  the 
town.  Now  Lord  Ringwood  was  a 
nobleman  who  never  would  allow  his 
angry  feelings  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
his  present  comforts  or  ease.  He  in- 
stantly desired  Mr.  Firmin's  attend- 
ance, and  submitted  to  liis  treatment ; 
a  part  of  which  was  a  hauteur  to  the 
full  as  great  as  that  which  the  sick 
man  exhibited.  Firmin's  appearance 
was  so  tall  and  grand,  that  he  looked 
vastly  more  noble  than  a  great  many 
noblemen.  Six  feet,  a  high  manner, 
a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a 
snowy  shirt-frill,  a  rolling  velvet  col- 
lar, a  beautiful  hand  appearing  under 
a  velvet  cuff,  —  all  these  advantages 
he  possessed  and  used.  He  did  not 
make  the  slightest  allusion  to  by- 
gones, but  treated  his  patient  with  a 
perfect  courtesy  and  an  impenetrable 
self-possession. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  polite- 
ness did  not  always  displease  the  old 
man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to 
slavish  compliance  and  eager  obedi- 
ence from  all  people  round  about  him, 
that  he  sometimes  wearied  of  their 
servility,  and  relished  a  little  inde- 
pendence. Was  it  from  calculation, 
or  because  he  was  a  man  of  high 
spirit,  that  Firmin  determined  to 
maintain  an  independent  course  with 
his  Lordship  1  From  the  first  day  of 
their  meeting  he  never  departed  from 
5 


it,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  meeting 
with  only  civil  behavior  from  his  no- 
ble relative  and  patient,  who  was 
notorious  for  his  rudeness  and  brutal- 
ity to  almost  every  person  who  came 
in  his  way. 

From  hints  which  his  Lordship  gave 
in  conversation,  he  showed  the  Doctor 
that  he  was  acquainted  with  some 
particulars  of  the  tatter's  early  career. 
It  had  been  wild  and  stormy.  Fir- 
min had  incurred  debts  ;  had  quar- 
relled with  his  father;  had  left  the 
University  and  gone  abroad ;  had 
lived  in  a  wild  society,  which  used 
dice  and  cards  every  night,  and  pistols 
sometimes  in  the  morning ;  and  had 
shown  a  fearful  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  the  latter  instrument,  which  he 
employed  against  the  person  of  a 
famous  Italian  adventurer,  who  fell 
under  his  hand  at  Kaples.  When 
this  century  Mas  tive-and-twcnty 
years  younger,  the  c  rack  of  the  pistol- 
shot  might  still  occasionally  be  heard 
in  the  suburbs  of  London  in  the  very 
early  morning;  and  the  dice-Lox 
went  rouiul  in  many  a  haunt  of 
pleasure.  The  knights  of  the  Four 
Kings  travelled  from  capital  to  capital, 
and  engaged  each  other  or  made  prey 
of  the  unwary.  Now,  the  times  are 
changed.  The  cards  are  coffined  in 
their  boxes.  Only  soiis-officieis,  brawl- 
ing in  their  provincial  cafe's  over  their 
dominos,  fight  duels.  "Ah,  dear 
me,"  I  heard  a  veteran  punter  sigh 
the  other  day  at  Bays's.  "  is  n't  it  a 
melancholy  thing  to  think,  that  if  I 
wanted  to  amuse  mj'sclf  with  a  fifty- 
pound  note,  I  don't  know  the  place  in 
London  where  I  could  go  and  lose 
it?"  And  he  fondly  recounted  the 
names  of  twenty  places  where  he 
could  have  cheerfully  staked  and  lost 
his  money  in  his  young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  ab- 
sence abroad,  Mr.  Firmin  came  back 
to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  re- 
turn to  the  University,  and  left  it  with 
the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine. 
We  have  told  how  he  ran  away  with 
Lord  Ringwood's  niece,  and  incurred 
the  anger  of  that  nobleman.     Beyond 


THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  PHILIP. 


abuse  and  anger  his  Lordship  was 
powerless.  The  youn<;  lady  was  free 
to  maiTv  whom  she  liked,  and  her 
uncle  to' disown  or  receive  hiin  ;  and 
accordin>^ly  she  was,  as  we  havest^en, 
disowned  by  his  Lordship,  until  he 
found  it  convenient  to  forgive  her. 
What  were  Ltjrd  Ringwood's  inten- 
tions regarding  his  projier.y,  what 
were  liis  accumulations,  and  who  his 
heirs  would  b.',  no  one  knew.  Mean- 
while, of  course,  there  were  those  who 
felt  a  very  great  interest  on  the  point. 
Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  husband  and 
children  were  hungry  and  poor.  If 
Uncle  Ringwood  had  money  to  leave, 
it  would  be  very  welcome  to  those 
three  darlings,  whose  father  had  not 
a  great  income  like  Ur.  Firmin. 
Philip  was  a  dear,  good,  frank,  amia- 
ble, wild  fellow,  and  they  all  loved 
him.  But  he  had  his  faults,  —  that 
could  not  be  concealed,  —  and  so 
poor  Phil's  faults  were  pretty  con- 
stantly canvassed  before  Uncle  Ring- 
wood,  by  dear  relatives  who  know 
them  only  too  well.  The  dear  rela- 
tives !  How  kind  they  are  !  I  don't 
think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him  to  my 
Lord.  That  quiet  woman  calmly  and 
gently  put  forward  tiie  claims  of  licr 
own  darlings,  and  affectionately 
dilated  on  the  young  man's  present 
prosperity,  and  magnificent  future 
prospects.  The  interest  of  thirty 
thousand  pounds  now,  and  the  inher- 
itance of  his  father's  great  accumu- 
lations !  What  voung  man  could 
want  for  more  ?  terhaps  he  had  too 
much  already.  Perhaps  he  was  too 
rich  to  work.  The  sly  old  peer  ac- 
quiesced in  his  niece's  statements,  and 
perfectly  understood  the  point  towards 
which  they  tended.  "  A  thousand  a 
year  !  What  's  a  thousand  a  year  !  " 
growled  the  old  lord.  "  Not  enough 
to  make  a  gentleman,  more  than 
enough  to  make  a  fellow  idle." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small 
income,"  sighed  Mrs.  Twysden. 
"  With  a  large  house,  a  good  estab- 
lishment, and  Mr.  Twysden's  salary 
from  his  office,  —  it  was  but  a  pit- 
tance." 


"  Pittance !  Starvation,"  growls 
my  Lord,  with  his  usual  frankness. 
"  Don't  I  know  what  housekeeping 
costs ;  and  see  how  you  screw  ? 
Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and 
job-horses,  rent  anddinners,  —  though 
yours,  Maria,  are  not  famous." 

"  Very  bad,  —  I  know  they  are  very 
bad,"  says  the  contrite  lady.  "  I 
wish  we  could  afford  any  better." 

"  Afford  any  better  1  Of  course 
you  can't.  You  are  the  crockery 
pots,  and  you  swim  down  stream  with 
the  brass  pots.  I  saw  Twysden  the 
other  day  walking  down  St  James's 
Street  wi"th  Rhodes  —  that  tall  fellow." 
(Here  ray  Lord  laughed,  and  showed 
many  fangs,  the  exhibition  of  which 
gave  a  peculiarly  fierce  air  to  his 
Lordship  when  in  good-humor).  "  If 
Twysden  walks  with  a  big  fellow,  he 
always  tries  to  keep  step  with  him. 
YoH  know  that."  Poor  Alaria  natur- 
ally knew  her  husband's  peculiarities ; 
but  slie  did  nut  say  that  she  had  no 
need  to  be  reminded  of  them. 

"  He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly 
speak,"  continued  L'ncle  Ringwood,* 
"  but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs, 
and  try  and  keep  up.  He  has  a  little 
body,  le  cher  miri,  but  a  good  pluck. 
Those  little  fellows  often  have.  I've 
seen  him  half  dead  out  shooting,  and 
plunging  over  the  ploughed  fields 
after  fellows  with  twice  his  stride. 
Why  don't  men  sink  in  the  world,  I 
want  to  know?  Instead  of  a  fine 
house,  and  a  parcel  of  idle  servants, 
why  don't  you  have  a  maid  and  a  leg 
of  mutton,  Maria  ?  You  go  half 
crazy  in  trying  to  make  both  ends 
meet.  You  know  you  do.  It  keeps 
you  awake  of  nights ;  /  know  that 
very  well.  You  've  got  a  house  fit  for 
jx^ople  with  four  times  your  money. 
I  lend  you  my  cook  and  so  forth ;  but 
I  can't  come  and  dine  with  you  unless 
I  send  the  wine  in.  Why  don't  you 
have  a  pot  of  porter,  and  a  joint,  or 
some  tripe  ?  —  tripe 's  a  famous  good 
thing.  The  miseries  wliich  people 
entail  on  themselves  in  trying  to  live 
beyond  their  means  are  perfectly 
ridiculous,  by  George !    Look  at  that 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


99 


fellow  who  opened  the  door  to  me ; 
he's  as  tall  as  one  of  my  own  men. 
Go  and  live  in  a  quiet  little  street  in 
Belgravia  somewhere,  and  liave  a 
neat  little  maid.  Nobody  will  think 
a  penny  the  worse  of  you, —  and  you 
will  be  just  as  well  off  as  if  you  lived 
here  with  an  extra  couple  of  thousand 
a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giving  you 
is  worth  half  that,  every  shilling  of 
it." 

"  It  is  very  good  advice :  but  I 
think,  sir,  I  should  prefer  the  thou- 
sand pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Of  course  you  would.  That  is  the 
consequence  of  your  false  position. 
One  of  the  good  points  about  that 
doctor  is  that  he  is  as  proud  as 
Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  boy.  They  are 
not  always  hungering  after  money. 
They  keep  their  independence ;  though 
he'll  have  his  own  too,  the  fellow 
will.  Why,  when  I  first  called  him 
in,  I  thought,  as  he  was  a  relation 
he'd  doctor  me  for  nothing;  but  he 
wouldn't.  He  would  have  his  fee, 
by  George !  and  would  n't  come  with- 
out it.  Confounded  independent 
fellow  Firmin  is.  And  so  is  the 
young  one." 

But  when  Twysden  and  his  son 
(perhaps  inspirited  by  Mrs.  Twysden) 
tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent 
in  the  presence  of  this  lion,  he  roared, 
and  he  rushed  at  them,  and  he  rent 
them,  so  that  they  fled  from  him 
howling.  And  this  reminds  me  of 
an  old  story  I  have  heard, —  quite  an 
old,  old  story,  such  as  kind  old  fellows 
at  clubs  love  to  remember, —  of  my 
Lord,  when  he  was  only  Lord  Cinq- 
bars,  insulting  a  half-pay  lieutenant, 
in  his  own  countr}',  who  horsewhipped 
his  Lordship  in  the  most  private  and 
ferocious  manner.  It  was  said  Lord 
Cinqbars  had  had  a  rencontre  with 
poachers :  but  it  was  my  Lord  who 
was  poaching  and  the  lieutenant  who 
was  defending  his  own  dovecot.  I  do 
not  say  that  this  was  a  model  noble- 
man ;  but  that,  when  his  own  passions 
or  interests  did  not  mislead  him,  he 
was  a  nobleman  of  very  considerable 
acuteness,   humor,  and  good  sense ; 


and  could  give  quite  good  advice  on 
occasion.  It'  men  would  kneel  down 
and  kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good. 
There  was  the  blacking,  and  yon  were 
welcome  to  embrace  toe  and  heel. 
But  those  who  would  not  were  free 
to  leave  the  ojieration  alone.  Tlie 
Pope  himself  does  not  demand  the 
ceremony  from  Protestants  ;  and  if 
they  object  to  the  slipper,  no  one 
thinks  of  ibrcing  it  into  their  mouths. 
Phil  and  his  father  probably  declined 
to  tremble  before  the  old  man,  not 
because  they  knew  he  was  a  bully 
who  might  be  put  down,  but  because 
they  were  men  of  spirit,  who  cared 
not  whether  a  man  was  bully  or  no. 

I  have  told  you  I  like  Philip  Fir- 
min, though  it  must  be  confessed  that 
the  young  fellow  had    many   faults, 

j  and  that  his  career,  especially  his 
early  career,  was  by  no  means  excm- 

:  plary.     Have  I  ever  excused  his  con- 

I  duct  to  his  father,  or  said  a  word  in 
apology  of  his   brief  and  inglorious 

'  university  career  ?  I  acknowledge 
his  shortcomings  with  that  candor 
which  my  friends  exhibit  in  speaking 
of  mine.  Who  does  not  see  a  friend's 
weaknesses,  and  is  so  blind  that  he 
cannot  perceive  that  enormous  beam 
in  his  neighbor's  eye?  Only  a  wo- 
man or  two,  from  time  to  time.  And 
even  they  are  undeceived  some  day. 
A  man  of  the  world,  I  write  about  my 
.friends  as  mundane  fellow-creatures. 
Do  you  suppose  there  are  many 
angels  here  "?  I  say  again,  perha];s  a 
woman  or  two.  But  as  for  you  iiiid 
me,  my  good  sir,  arc  there  any  si<^ns 
of  wings  sprouting  liom  our  shoulder- 
blades  ?  Be  quiet.  Don't  pursue 
your  snarling,  cynical  remarks,  but 
go  on  with  your  story. 

As  you  go  through  life,  stumbling, 
and  slipping,  staggering  to  your  feet 
again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own 
wretched  weakness,  and  praying, 
with  a  contrite  heart,  let  us  trust,  that 
you  may  not  be  led  into  temptation, 
have  you  not  often  looked  at  other 
fellow-sinners,  and  speculated  with  an 
awful  interest  on  their  career  ?  Some 
there  are  on  whom,  quite  in  their  early 


100 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


lives,  dark  Ahrimanes  has  seemed  to 
lay  his  dread  mark :  children,  yet 
corrupt,  and  wicked  of  tongue ;  tender 
of  age,  yet  cruel ;  who  should  be 
truth-telling  and  generous  yet  (they 
were  at  their  mothers'  bosoms  yester- 
day), but  are  false  and  cold  and 
greedy  before  their  time.  Infants 
almost,  they  practise  the  art  and  self- 
ishness of  old  men.  Behind  their 
candid  faces  are  wiles  and  wickedness, 
and  a  hideous  precocity  of  artifice. 
I  can  recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of 
far-off,  unforgotten  boyhood,  can  see 
marching  that  sad  little  procession  of 
enfans  perdtis.  May  they  be  saved, 
pray  Heaven !  Then  there  is  the 
doubtful  class,  those  who  are  still  on 
trial ;  those  who  fall  and  rise  again  ; 
those  who  are  often  worsted  in  life's 
battle ;  beaten  down,  wounded,  im- 
prisoned ;  but  escape  and  conquer 
sometimes.  And  then  there  is  the 
happy  class  about  whom  there  seems 
no  doubt  at  all :  the  spotless  and 
white-robed  ones,  to  whom  virtue  is 
easy ;  in  whose  pure  bosoms  faith 
nestles,  and  cold  doubt  finds  no  en- 
trance ;  who  are  children,  and  good  ; 
young  men,  and  good  ;  husbands  and 
fathers,  and  yet  good.  Why  could 
the  captain  of  our  school  write  his 
Greek  iambics  without  an  effort,  and 
without  an  error?  Others  of  us 
blistered  the  page  with  unavailing 
tears  and  blots,  and  might  toil  ever 
so  and  come  in  lag  last  at  the  bottom 
of  the  form.  Our  friend  Philip  be- 
longs to  the  middle-class,  in  which 
you  and  I  probably  are,  my  dear  sir, 
—  not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeemably  con- 
signed to  that  awful  third  class, 
wliereof  mention  has  been  made. 

Bat,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err, 
t'lere  is  no  doubt  Mr.  Philip  exercised 
his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no 
liitle  fear  at  one  time  that  he  should 
overdraw  his  account.  He  went  from 
scliool  to  the  University,  and  there 
distinguished  himself  certainly,  but 
in  a  way  in  which  very  few  parents 
would  choose  that  their  sons  should 
excel.  That  he  should  hunt,  that  he 
should   give  parties,  that  he  should 


pull  a  good  oar  in  one  of  the  best 
boats  on  the  river,  that  he  should 
speak  at  the  Union,  —  all  these  were 
very  well.  But  why  should  he  speak 
such  awful  radicalism  and  republican- 
ism,—  he  with  noble  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  the  son  of  a  parent  whose 
interest  at  least  it  was  to  keep  well 
with  people  of  high  station  ? 

"  Why,  Pendennis,"  said  Dr.  Fir- 
min  to  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
much  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  his 
handsome  pale  face,  —  "why  should 
it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin  —  both 
of  whose  grandfathers  fought  nobly 
for  their  king  —  should  be  forgetting 
the  principles  of  his  family,  and  — 
and  I  have  n't  words  to  tell  you  how 
deeply  he  disappoints  me.  Why,  I 
actually  heard  of  him  at  that  horri- 
ble Union  advocating  the  death  of 
Charles  the  First !  I  was  wild  enough 
myself  when  I  was  at  the  University, 
but  I  was  a  gentleman." 

"  Boys,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged. 
"  They  will  advocate  anything  for  an 
argument;  and  Philip  would  have 
taken  the  other  side  quite  as  read- 
ily." 

"Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St. 
Dennis  told  me  of  it  at  the  club.  I 
can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  pain- 
ful impression,"  cried  the  father. 
"  That  my  son  should  be  a  radical 
and  a  republican  is  a  cruel  thought 
for  a  father ;  and  I,  who  had  hoped 
for  Lord  Ringwood's  borough  for  him, 
—  who  had  hoped  —  who  had  hoped 
very  much  better  things  for  him  and 
from  him.  He  is  not  a  comfort  to  me. 
You  saw  how  he  treated  me  one 
night  ?  A  man  might  live  on  differ- 
ent terms,  I  think,  with  his  only 
son  !  "  And  with  a  breaking  voice, 
a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real  grief  at  his 
heart,  the  unhappy  physician  moved 
away. 

How  had  the  Doctor  bred  his  son, 
that  the  young  man  should  be  thus 
unruly  ?  Was  the  revolt  the  boy's 
fault,  or  the  father's  ?  Dr.  Firmin's 
horror  seemed  to  he  because  his  noble 
friends  were  horrified  by  Phil's  radi- 
cal doctrine.    At  that  time  of  my  life, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


101 


being  young  and  very  green,  I  had  a 
little  mischievous  pleasure  in  infuri- 
ating Scjuaretoes,  and  causing  him  to 
pronounce  that  I  was  "  a  dangerous 
man."  Now,  I  am  ready  to  say  that 
Nero  was  a  monarch  with  many 
elegant  accomplishments,  and  consid- 
erable natural  amiability  of  disposi- 
tion. I  praise  and  admire  success 
wherever  1  meet  it.  I  make  allow- 
ance for  faults  and  shortcomings,  es- 
pecially in  my  superiors ;  and  feel 
that,  did  we  know  all,  we  should 
judge  them  very  differently.  People 
don't  believe  me,  perhaps,  quite  so 
much  as  formerly.  But  I  don't  of- 
fend :  I  trust  I  don't  offend.  Have  I 
said  anything  painful  ?  Plague  on 
my  blunders  !  I  recall  the  expression. 
I  regret  it.     I  contradict  it  flat. 

As  I  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for 
everybody,  let  poor  Philip  come  in  for 
the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnesty  ;  and 
if  he  vexed  his  father,  as  he  certainly 
did,  let  us  trust  —  let  us  be  thankfully 
sure  —  he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old 
gentleman  depicted  him.  Nay,  if  I 
have  painted  the  Old  Gentleman 
himself  as  rather  black,  who  knows 
but  that  this  was  an  error,  not  of  his 
complexion,  but  of  my  vision  ?  Phil 
was  unruly  because  he  was  bold,  and 
wild,  and  young.  His  father  was 
hurt,  naturally  hurt,  because  of  the 
boy's  extravagances  and  follies.  They 
will  come  together  again,  as  father 
and  son  should.  These  little  differ- 
ences of  temper  will  be  smoothed  and 
equalized  anon.  The  boy  has  led  a 
wild  life.  He  has  been  obliged  to 
leave  college.  He  has  given  his  father 
hours  of  anxiety  and  nights  of  pain- 
ful watching.  But  stay,  father,  what 
of  you  ?  Have  you  shown  to  the  boy 
the  practice  of  confidence,  the  exam- 
ple of  love  and  honor  1  Did  you  ac- 
custom him  to  virtue,  and  teach  truth 
to  the  child  at  your  knee  f  "  Honor 
your  father  and  mother."  Amen. 
May  his  days  be  long  who  fulfils  the 
command  :  but  implied,  though  un- 
written on  the  table,  is  there  not  the 
order,  "  Honor  your  son  and  daugh- 
ter "  i     Pray  Heaven  that  we,  whose 


days  are  already  not  few  in  the  land, 
may  keep  this  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  ex- 
travagant, and  insubordinate  ^  Cured 
of  that  illness  in  which  we  saw  him, 
he  rose  up,  and  from  school  went  his 
way  to  the  University,  and  there  en- 
tered on  a  life  such  as  wild  young 
men  will  lead.  Prom  that  day  of  ill- 
ness his  manner  towards  his  father 
changed,  and  regarding  the  change 
the  elder  Pirmin  seemed  afraid  to 
question  his  son.  He  used  the  house 
as  if  his  own,  came  and  absented 
himself  at  will,  ruled  the  servant's, 
and  was  spoiled  by  them  ;  spent  the 
income  which  was  settled  on  his  moth- 
er and  her  children,  and  gave  of  it 
liberally  to  poor  acquaintances.  To 
the  remonstrances  of  old  friends  he  re- 
plied that  he  had  a  right  to  do  as  he 
chose  with  his  own  ;  that  other  men 
who  were  poor  might  work,  but  that 
he  had  enough  to  live  on,  without 
grinding  over  classics  and  mathemat- 
ics. He  was  implicated  in  more  rows 
than  one  ;  his  tutors  saw  him  not,  but 
he  and  the  procters  became  a  great 
deal  too  well  acquainted.  If  I  were 
to  give  a  history  of  Mr.  Philip  Pirmin 
at  the  University,  it  would  be  the  story 
of  an  Idle  Apprentice,  of  whom  his 
pastors  and  masters  were  justified  in 
prophesying  evil.  He  was  seen  on 
lawless  London  excursions,  when  his 
father  and  tutor  supposed  him  unwell 
in  his  rooms  in  college.  He  madff 
acquaintance  with  jolly  companions, 
with  whom  his  father  grieved  that  ho 
should  be  intimate.  He  cut  the  as- 
tonished uncle  Twysden  in  London 
Street,  and  blandly  told  him  that  he 
must  be  mistaken, —  he  one  Prench- 
man,  he  no  speak  English.  He  stared 
the  master  of  his  own  college  out  of 
countenance,  dashed  back  to  college 
with  a  Turpin-like  celerity,  and  was 
in  rooms  with  a  ready-proved  alibi 
when  inquiries  were  made.  I  am 
afraid  there  is  no  doubt  that  Phil 
screwed  up  his  tutor's  door;  Mr.  Okes 
discovered  him  in  the  act  He  had  to 
go  down,  the  young  prodigal.  I  wish 
I  could  say  he  was  repentant.   But  he 


102 


THE  ADVENTUEES  OF  PHEUF*- 


appeared  before  his  father  with  the 
utmost  nonchalance ;  said  that  he  was 
doing  no  good  at  the  University,  and 
should  be  much  better  away,  and  then 
went  abroad  on  a  dashing  tour  to 
France  and  Italy,  whither  it  is  by 
no  means  our  business  to  follow  him. 
Something  had  poisoned  the  generous 
blood.  The  once  kindly  honest  lad 
was  wild  and  reckless.  He  had  money 
:n  sufficiency,  his  own  horses  and 
equipage,  and  free  quarters  in  his 
father's  house.  But  father  and  son 
scarce  met,  and  seldom  took  a  meal 
together.  "  I  know  his  haunts,  but  I 
don't  know  his  friends,  Pendennis," 
the  elder  man  said.  "  I  don't  think 
they  are  vicious,  so  much  as  low.  I 
do  not  charge  him  with  vice,  mind 
you  ;  but  with  idleness,  and  a  fatal 
love  of  low  company,  and  a  frantic, 
suicidal  determination  to  fling  his 
chances  in  life  away.  Ah,  think 
where  he  might  be,  and  where  he  is  ! " 
Where  he  wiis?  Do  not  be  alarmed. 
Philip  was  only  idling.  Philip  might 
have  been  much  more  industriously, 
more  profitably,  and  a  great  deal  more 
wickedly  employed.  What  is  now 
called  Boiiemia  had  no  name  in 
Philip's  young  days,  though  many  of 
us  knew  the  country  very  well.  A 
pleasant  land,  not  fenced  with  drab 
stucco,  like  Tybumia  or  Belgravia ; 
not  guarded  by  a  huge  standing  army 
of  footmen  ;  not  echoing  with  noble 
chariots;  not  replete  with  polite  chintz 
drawing-rooms  and  neat  tea-tables ;  a 
land  over  which  hangs  an  endless  fog, 
occasioned  by  much  tobacco ;  a  land 
of  chambers,  billiard-rooms,  supper- 
rooms,  oysters ;  a  land  of  song ;  a  land 
where  soda-water  flows  freely  in  the 
morning;  a  land  of  tin-dish  covers 
from  taverns,  and  frothing  porter ;  a 
land  of  lotus-eating  (with  lots  of 
cayenne  pepper),  of  pulls  on  the  river, 
of  delicious  reading  of  novels,  maga- 
■  zines,  and  saunterings  in  many  stu- 
dios ;  a  land  where  men  call  each  oth- 
er by  their  Christian  names ;  where 
most  are  poor,  where  almost  all  are 
young,  and  where,  if  a  few  oldsters  do 
eater,  it  is  because  they  have  preserved 


more  tenderly  and  carefully  than  oth- 
er folks  their  youthful  spirits,  and  the 
delightful  capacity  to  be  idle.  I  have 
lost  my  wa\'  to  Bohemia  now,  but  it 
is  certain  that  Prague  is  the  most 
picturesque  city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed 
only  lately  quitted  the  Bohemian  land 
at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  I 
could  not  quite  participate  in  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  indignation  at  his  son  persist- 
ing in  his  bad  courses  and  wild  asso- 
ciates. When  Firmin  had  been  wild 
himself,  he  had  fought,  intrigued,  and 
gambled  in  good  company.  Phil  chose 
his  friends  amongst  a  banditti  never 
heard  of  in  fashionable  quarters.  Per- 
haps he  liked  to  play  the  prince  in  the 
midst  of  these  associates,  and  was 
not  averse  to  the  flattery  which  a  full 
purse  brought  him  among  men  most 
of  whose  pockets  had  a  meagre  lining. 
He  had  not  emigrated  to  Bohemia, 
and  settled  there  altogether.  At  school 
and  in  his  brief  university  career  he 
had  made  some  friends  who  lived  in 
the  world,  and  with  whom  he  was 
still  familiar.  "  These  come  and 
knock  at  my  front  door,  my  father's 
door,"  he  would  say,  with  one  of  his 
old  laughs ;  "  the  Bandits,  Avho  have 
the  signal,  enter  only  by  the  dissect- 
ing-room. I  know  which  are  the 
most  honest,  and  that  it  is  not  always 
the  poor  Freebooters  who  best  deserve 
to  be  hanged." 

Like  many  a  young  gentleman  who 
has  no  intention  of  pursuing  legal 
studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at 
an  inn  of  court,  and  kept  his  terms 
duly,  though  he  vowed  that  his  con- 
science would  not  allow  him  to  prac- 
tise (I  am  not  defending  the  opinions 
of  this  squeamish  moralist,  —  only 
stating  them).  His  acquaintance  here 
lay  amongst  the  Temple  Bohemians, 
He  had  part  of  a  set  of  chambers  in 
Parchment  Buildings,  to  be  sure,  and 
you  might  read  on  a  door,  •'  Mr.  Cas- 
sidy,  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  Mr.  Vanjohn  "  ; 
but  were  these  gentlemen  likely  to  ad- 
vance Philip  in  life  ?  Cassidy  was  a 
newspaper  reporter,  and  young  Van- 
john a  betting  man  who  was  alwayi 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


103 


attending  races  Dr.  Firmin  had  a 
horror  of  newspaper-men,  and  consid- 
ered they  belonged  to  the  dangerous 
classes,  and  treated  them  with  a  dis- 
tant art'ability. 

"  Look  at  the  "  governor,  Pen,"  j 
Philip  would  say  to  the  present  chron-  | 
icier.  "  He  always  watches  you  with 
a  secret  suspicion,  and  has  never  got 
over  his  wonder  at  your  being  a  gen- 
tleman. I  like  him  when  he  does  the 
Lord  Chatham  business,  and  conde- 
scends towards  you,  and  gives  you 
his  hand  to  kiss  He  considers  he  is 
your  better,  don't  you  see  ?  O,  he  is 
a  paragon  of  a  pere  noble,  the  gov- 
ernor is  !  and  I  ought  to  be  a  young 
Sir  Charles  Grandison."  And  the 
young  scapegrace  would  imitate  his 
father's  smile,  and  the  Doctor's  man- 
ner of  laying  his  hand  to  his  breast 
and  putting  out  his  neat  right  leg,  ail 
of  which  movements  or  postures  were, 
1  own,  rather  pompous  and  affected. 

Whatever  the  paternal  faults  were, 
you  will  say  that  Philip  was  not  the 
man  to  criticise  them;  nor  in  this 
matter  shall  I  attempt  to  defend  him. 
My  wife  has  a  little  pensioner  whom 
she  found  wandering  in  the  street, 
and  singing  a  little  artless  song. 
The  child  could  not  speak  yet, —  only 
warble  its  little  song ;  and  had  thus 
strayed  away  from  home,  and  never 
once  knew  of  her  danger.  We  kept 
her  for  a  while,  until  the  police  found 
her  parents.  Our  servants  bathed  her, 
and  dressed  her,  and  sent  her  home 
in  such  neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little 
wretch  had  never  seen  until  fortune 
sent  her  in  the  way  of  those  good-na- 
tured folks.  She  pays  them  frequent 
visits.  When  she  goes  away  from  us, 
she  is  always  neat  and  clean ;  when 
she  comes  to  us,  she  is  in  rags  and 
dirty  :  a  wicked  little  slattern  !  And 
pray  whose  duty  is  it  to  keep  her 
clean  1  and  has  not  the  parent  in  this 
case  forgotten  to  honor  her  daughter  1 
Suppose  there  is  some  reason  which 
prevents  Philip  from  loving  his  father, 
—  that  the  Doctor  has  neglected  to 
cleanse  the  boy's  heart,  and  by  careless- 
ness and  indifference  has  sent  him  err- 


ing into  the  world.  If  so,  woe  be  to 
that  doctor.  If  I  take  my  little  son 
to  the  tavern  to  dinner,  shall  I  not  as- 
suredly pay  ?  If  I  suffer  him  in  ten- 
der youth  to  go  astray,  and  harm 
comes  to  him,  whose  is  the  fault  7 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  ir- 
regularities of  which  Phil's  father 
complained  were  in  some  degree  oc- 
casioned by  the  elder's  own  faults. 
He  was  so  laboriously  obsequious  to 
great  men,  that  the  son  in  a  rage  de- 
tied  and  avoided  them.  He  was  so 
grave,  so  polite,  so  complimentary, 
so  artificial,  that  Phil,  in  revolt  at 
such  hypocrisy,  chose  to  be  frank, 
cynical,  and  familiar.  The  grave  old 
big-wigs  whom  the  Doi  tor  loved  to 
assemble,  bland  and  solemn  men  of 
the  ancient  school,  who  dined  solemn- 
ly with  each  other  at  their  solemn 
old  houses,  —  such  men  as  old  Lord 
Botley,  Baron  Bumpsher,  Cricklade 
(who  published  "  Travels  in  Asia  Mi- 
nor," 4to,  1804),  the  Bishop  of  St. 
Bees,  and  the  like,  —  wagged  their  old 
heads  sadly  when  they  collogued  in 
clubs,  and  talked  of  poor  Firmin's 
scapegrace  of  a  son.  He  would  come  to 
no  good ;  he  was  giving  his  good 
father  much  pain  ;  he  had  been  in  all 
sorts  of  rows  and  disturbances  at  the 
University,  and  the  Master  of  Boni- 
face reported  most  unfavorably  of 
him.  And  at  the  solemn  dinners  in 
Old  Parr  Street,  —  the  admirable, 
costly,  silent  dinners,  —  he  treated 
these  old  gentlemen  with  a  familiar- 
ity which  caused  the  old  heads  to 
shake  with  surprise  and  choking  in- 
dignation. Lord  Botley  and  Baron 
Bumpsher  had  proposed  and  second- 
ed Firmin's  boy  at  the  Megatherium 
club.  The  pallid  old  boys  toddled 
away  in  alarm  when  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance there.  He  brought  a  smell  of 
tobacco  smoke  with  him.  He  was  ca- 
pable of  smoking  in  the  drawing-room 
Itself.  They  trembled  before  Philip, 
who,  for  his  part,  used  to  relish  their 
senile  anger ;  and  loved,  as  he  called 
it,  to  tie  all  their  pigtails  together. 

In  no  place  was  Philip  seen  or 
heard  to  so  little  advantage  as  in  his 


104 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


father's  house.  "I  feel  like  a  hum- 
bug mvself  amongst  those  old  hum- 
bugs," he  would  say  to  me.  "  Their 
old  joke,  and  their  old  compliments, 
and  their  virtuous  old  conversation 
sicken  me.  Are  all  old  men  lium- 
bugs,  I  wonder  ?  "  It  is  not  pleasant 
'to  hear  misanthropy  from  young  lips, 
and  to  find  eyes  that  are  scarce  twenty 
years  old  already  looking  out  with 
distrust  on  the  world. 

In  other  houses  than  his  own  I  am 
bound  to  say  Philip  was  much  more 
amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a 
splendor  of  gayety  and  cheerfulness 
which  brought  sunshine  and  welcome 
into  many  a  room  which  he  fre- 
quented. I  have  said  that  many  of 
his  companions  were  artists  and  jour- 
nalists, and  their  clubs  and  haunts 
were  his  own.  Ridley  the  Academi- 
cian had  Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms  in 
Thomhaugh  Street,  and  Philip  was 
often  in  J.  J.'s  studio,  or  in  the  wid- 
ow's little  room  below.  He  hafl  a 
very  great  tenderness  and  affection 
for  her ;  her  presence  seemed  to  pu- 
rify him ;  and  in  her  company  the 
boisterous,  reckless  young  man  was 
invarialily  gentle  and  respectful.  Her 
eyes  used  to  fill  with  tears  when  she 
spoke  about  him ;  and  when  he  was 
present,  followetl  and  watched  him 
with  sweet  motherly  devotion.  It 
was  pleasant  to  see  him  at  her  homely 
little  fireside,  and  hear  his  jokes  and 
prattle,  with  a  fatuous  old  father,  who  i 
was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  lodgers. 
Philip  would  play  cribbage  for  hours 
with  this  old  man,  frisk  about  him 
with  a  hundred  harmless  joket.  and 
walk  out  liy  his  invalid  chair,  when 
the  old  captain  went  to  sun  himself 
in  the  New  Road.  He  was  an  idle 
fellow,  Philip,  that 's  the  truth.  He  ; 
had  an  agreeable  perseverance  in  do- 
ing nothing,  and  would  pass  half  a  | 
day  in  perfect  contentment  over  his  ' 
pipe,  watching  Ridley  at  his  easel. 
J.  J.  painted  that  charming  head  of 
Philip  which  hangs  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  | 
little  room, — with  the  fair  hair,  the  i 
tawny  l)eard  and  whiskers,  and  the  I 
bold  Idue  eyes.  I 


[  Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song 
of  "  Garryowen  na  Gloria,"  which  it 
did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which, 
when  sung  at  his  full  pitch,  you 
might  hear  for  a  mile  round.  One 
night  I  had  been  to  dine  in  Russell 
Square,  and  was  brouj^ht  home  in  his 
carriage  by  Dr.  Firmin,  who  was  of 
the  party.  As  we  came  through 
Soho,  the  windows  of  a  certain  cluh- 
room  called  the  "  Haunt"  were  open, 
and  we  could  hear  Philip's  song  boom- 
ing through  the  night,  and  especially 
a  certain  wild- Irish  war-whoop  with 
which  it  concluded,  amidst  universal 
applause  and  enthusiastic  battering  of 
glasses. 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the 
carriage  as  though  a  blow  had  struck 
him.  "  Do  you  hear  his  voice  1 "  he 
groaned  out.  "  Those  are  his  haunts. 
My  son,  who  might  go  anywhere, 
prefers  to  be  captain  in  a  pot-house, 
and  sing  songs  in  a  tap-room  ! " 

I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  case. 
I  knew  there  was  no  harm  in  the 
place;  that  clever  men  of  consider- 
able note  frequented  it.  But  the 
wounded  father  was  not  to  be  con- 
soled by  such  commonplaces ;  and  a 
deep  and  natural  grief  oppressed  him 
in  consequence  of  the  faults  of  his  son. 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised 
me.  Among  Dr.  Firmin's  patients 
was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age 
and  large  fortune,  who  looked  upon 
the  accomplished  doctor  with  favor- 
able eyes.  That  he  should  take  a 
companion  to  cheer  him  in  his  soli- 
tude was  natural  enough,  and  all  his 
friends  concurred  in  thinking  that  he 
should  marry.  Every  one  had  cogni- 
zance of  the  quiet  little  courtship,  ex- 
cept the  doctor's  son,  between  whom 
and  his  father  there  were  only  too 
many  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip 
whether  he  should  condole  with  him 
or  congratulate  him  on  his  father's 
approaching  marriage?  His  what? 
The  younger  Firmin  exhihited  the 
greatest  surprise  and  agitation  on 
hearing  of  this  match.  He  ran 
home :  he  awaited  his  father's  return. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


105 


When  Dr.  Firmin  came  home  and 
betook  himself  to  his  study,  Philip 
confronted  him  there.  "  This  must 
be  a  lie,  sir,  which  I  have  heard  to- 
day," the  young  man  said,  fiercely. 

"  A  lie !'  what  lie,  Philip  ?  "  asked 
the  father.  They  were  both  very  res- 
olute and  courageous  men. 

"  That  you  are  going  to  marry 
Miss  Benson." 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy 
that  I  don't  need  any  other  compan- 
ion 1 "  asked  the  father. 

"  That 's  not  the  question,"  said 
Philip,  hotly.  "  You  can't  and 
mustn't  marry  that  lady,  sir." 

"  And  why  not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and 
Heaven  you  are  married  already,  sir. 
And  I  swear  I  will  tell  Miss  Benson 
the  story  to-morrow,  if  you  persist  in 
your  plan." 

"  So  you  know  that  story  1 " 
groaned  the  father. 

"  Yes.  God  forgive  you,"  said  the 
son. 

"  It  was  a  fault  of  my  youth  that 
has  been  bitterly  repented." 

"A  fault! — a  crime!"  said  Philip. 

"  Enough,  sir !  Whatever  my 
fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to  charge  me 
with  it." 

"  If  you  won't  guard  your  own 
honor,  I  must.  I  shall  go  to  Miss 
Benson  now." 

"  If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you 
don't  pretend  to  return  to  it  ?  " 

"  Be  it  so.  Let  us  settle  our  ac- 
counts, and  part,  sir." 

"  Philip,  Philip !  you  break  my 
heart,"  cried  the  father. 

"  You  don't  suppose  mine  is  very 
light,  sir,"  said  the  son. 

Philip  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a 
mother-in-law.  But  father  and  son 
loved  each  other  no  better  after  their 
dispute. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Brandon's. 

Thornhadgh    Street   is  but  a 
poor  place  now,  and  the  houses  look 

5* 


I  as  if  they  had  seen  better  days  :  but 
that  house  with  the  cut  centre  draw- 
ing-room window,  which  has  the 
name  of  Brandon  on  the  door,  is  as 

!  neat  as  any  house  in  the  quartir,  and 
the  brass  plate  always  shines  like  bur- 
nished gold.  Al)Out  Easter  time 
many  fine  carriages  stop  at  that  door, 
and  splendid  people  walk  in,  intro- 
duced by  a  tidy  little  maid,  or  else  by 
an  athletic  Italian,  with  a  glossy  black 
beard  and  gold  ear-rings,  who  con- 
ducts them  to  the  drawing-room  floor, 
where  Mr.  Ridley,  the  painter,  lives, 
and  where  his  pictures  are  privately 
exhibited  before  they  go  to  the  Royal 
Academy. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will 
often  see  a  red-taccd  man,  in  an  olive- 
green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the 
blinds  of  the  parlor,  on  the  ground- 
floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann,  the 
father  of  the  lady  who  keeps  the 
house.  I  don't  know  how  he  came 
by  the  rank  of  captain,  but  he  has 
borne  it  so  long  and  gallantly  that 
there  is  no  use  in  any  longer  ques- 
tioning the  title.  He  does  not  claim 
it,  neither  does  he  deny  it.  But  the 
wags  who  call  upon  Mrs.  Brandon 
can  always,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  draw" 
her  father,  by  speaking  of  I'russia, 
France,  Waterloo,  or  battles  in  gen- 
eral, until  the  Little  Sister  says, 
"  Now,  never  mind  about  the  battle 
of  Waterloo,  papa"  (she  says  Pa  — 
her  h's  are  irregular —  I  can't  helj)  it), 
—  "never  mind  about  Waterloo, 
papa ;  you  've  told  them  all  about  it. 
And  don't  go  on,  Mr.  Beans,  don't, 
please,  go  on  in  that  way." 

Young  Beans  has  already  drawn 
"Captain  Gann  (assisted  by  Shaw, 
the  Life-Guardsman)  killing  twenty- 
four  French  cuirassiers  at  Waterloo." 
"  Captain  Gann  defending  Hougou- 
mont."  "  Captain  Gann,  called  upon 
by  Napoleon  Buonaparte  to  lay  down 
his  arms,  saying,  '  A  captain  of 
militia  dies,  but  never  surrenders.' " 
"The  Duke  of  Wellington  pointing 
to  the  advancing  Old  Guard,  and 
saying,  'Up,  Gann,  and  at  tlicm.' ' 
And  these  sketches  are  so  droll,  that 


106 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP, 


even  the  Little  Sister,  Gann's  own 
daughter,  can't  help  laughing  at 
them.  To  be  sure,  she  loves  fun,  the 
Little  Sister ;  laughs  over  droll  books; 
laughs  to  herself,  in  her  little  quiet 
corner  at  work  ;  laughs  over  pictures  ; 
and,  at  the  right  place,  laughs  and 
sympathizes  too.  Ridley  says  he 
knows  few  better  critics  of  pictures 
than  Mrs.  Brandon.  She  has  a 
sweet  temper,  a  merry  sense  of  humor, 
that  makes  the  checks  dimple  and 
the  eyes  shine  ;  and  a  kind  heart,  that 
has  been  sorely  tried  and  wounded, 
but  is  still  soft  and  gentle.  Fortu- 
nate are  they  whose  hearts,  so  tried 
by  suffering,  yet  recover  their  health. 
Some  have  illnesses  from  which  there 
is  no  recovery,  and  drag  through 
life  afterwards,  maimed  and  invalid- 
ed. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been 
subjected  in  youth  to  a  dreadful  trial 
and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  them 
by  a  kind  Providence,  and  is  now  so 
thoroughly  restored  as  to  own  that 
she  is  happy,  and  to  thank  God  that 
she  can  be  grateful  and  useful.  When 
poor  Montfitchet  died,  she  nursed 
him  through  his  illness  ■as  tenderly  as 
his  good  wife  herself.  In  the  days 
of  her  own  chief  grief  and  misfor- 
tune, her  father,  who  was  under  the 
domination  of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and 
blundering  woman,  thrust  out  poor 
little  Caroline  from  his  door,  when 
she  returned  to  it  the  broken-hearted 
victim  of  a  scoundrel's  seduction  ;  and 
when  the  old  captain  was  himself  in 
want  and  houseless,  she  had  found 
him,  sheltered  and  fed  him.  And  it 
was  from  that  day  her  wounds  had  be- 
gun to  heal,  and.  from  gratitude  for  this 
immense  piece  of  good  fortune  vouch- 
safed to  her,  that  her  happiness  and 
cheerfulness  returned.  Returned  ? 
There  was  an  old  servant  of  the  fam- 
ily, who  could  not  stay  in  the  house 
because  she  was  so  abominably  dis- 
respectful to  the  captain,  and  this 
woman  said  she  had  never  known 
Miss  Caroline  so  cheerful,  nor  so 
happy,  nor  so  good-looking,  as  she 
was  now. 


So  Captain  Gann  came  to  live 
with  his  daughter,  and  patronized 
her  with  much  dignity.  He  had  a 
very  few  yearly  pounds,  which  served 
to  pay  his  club  expenses,  and  a  por- 
tion of  his  clothes.  His  club,  I  need 
not  say,  was  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng," 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  here  the 
captain  met  frequently  a  pleasant  lit- 
tle society,  and  bragged  unceasingly 
about  his  former  prosperity. 

I  have  heard  that  the  country-house 
in  Kent,  of  which  he  boasted,  was  a 
shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Mar- 
gate, of  which  the  furniture  was  sold 
in  execution ;  but  if  it  had  been  a 
palace  the  captain  would  not  have  been 
out  of  place  there,  one  or  two  people 
still  rather  fondly  thought.  His  daugh- 
ter, amongst  others,  had  tried  to  fancy 
all  sorts  of  good  of  her  father,  and 
especially  that  he  was  a  man  of  re- 
markably good  manners.  But  she 
had  seen  one  or  two  gentlemen  since 
she  knew  the  poor  old  father,  —  gen- 
tlemen with  rough  coats  and  good 
hearts,  like  Dr.  Gk)odenough  ;  gentle- 
men with  superfine  coats  and  super- 
fine double-milled  manners,  like  Dr. 
Firmin,  and  hearts  —  well,  never 
mind  about  that  point ;  gentlemen 
of  no  h's,  like  the  good,  dear,  faithful 
benefactor  who  had  rescued  her  at 
the  brink  of  despair  ;  men  of  genius, 
like  Ridley ;  great  hearty,  generous, 
honest  gentlemen,  like  Philip  ;  —  an(J 
this  illusion  about  Pa,  I  suppose,  had 
vanished  along  with  some  other 
fancies  of  her  poor  little  maiden 
youth.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an 
understanding  with  the  "  Admiral 
Byng  "  :  the  landlady  was  instructed 
as  to  the  supplies  to  be  furnished  to 
the  captain;  and  as  for  his  stories, 
poor  Caroline  knew  them  a  great 
deal  too  well  to  believe  in  them  any 
more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  ac- 
cuse the  captain  of  habitual  inebriety. 
He  was  a  generous  oflScer,  and  his 
delight  was,  when  in  cash,  to  order 
"  glasses  round  "  for  the  company  at 
the  club,  to  whom  he  narrated  the 
history  of  his  brilliant  early  days. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


107 


when  he  lived  in  some  of  the  tiptop 
society  of  this  city,  sir,  —  a  society  in 
which,  we  need  not  say,  the  custom 
always  is  for  gentlemen  to  treat  other 
gentlemen  to  rum-and-water.  Never 
mind,  —  I  wish  we  were  all  as  happy 
as  the  captain.  I  see  his  jolly  face 
now  before  me  as  it  blooms  through 
the  window  in  Thomhaugh  Street, 
and  the  wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy 
hand  which  sweeps  me  a  gracious  rec- 
ognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighboring 
chapel  was  a  very  good  friend  to  the 
Little  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in 
her  parlor;  to  which  circumstance 
the  captain  frequently  alluded,  point- 
ing out  the  very  chair  on  which  the 
divine  sat.  Mr.  Gann  attended  his 
ministrations  regularly  every  Sunday, 
and  brought  a  rich,  though  somewhat 
worn,  bass  voice  to  bear  upon  the 
anthems  and  hymns  at  the  chapel. 
His  style  was  more  florid  than  is  gen- 
eral now  among  church  singers,  and, 
indeed,  had  been  acquired  in  a  former 
age  and  in  the  performance  of  rich 
Bacchanalian  chants,  such  as  delight- 
ed the  contemporaries  of  our  Incle- 
dons  and  Brahams.  With  a  very 
little  entreaty,  the  captain  could  be 
induced  to  sing  at  the  club;  and  I 
must  own  that  Phil  Firmin  would 
draw  the  captain  out,  and  extract 
from  him  a  song  of  ancient  days ;  but 
this  must  be  in  the  absence  of  his 
daughter,  whose  little  face  wore  an 
air  of  such  extreme  terror 'and  dis- 
turbance when  her  father  sang,  that 
he  presently  ceased  from  exercising 
his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing. 
He  hung  up  his  lyre,  whereof  it 
must  be  owned  that  time  had  brok- 
en many  of  the  once  resounding 
chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed 
by  her  lodgers, —  with  a  few  gimcracks 
from  the  neighboring  Wardour  Street 
presented  by  others  of  her  friends, — 
with  the  chairs,  tables,  and  bureaus 
as  bright  as  beeswax  and  rubbing 
could  make  them, —  the  Little  Sister's 
room  was  a  cheery  little  place,  and 
received  not  a  little  company.     She 


allowed  Pa's  pipe.  "  It 's  company 
to  him,"  she  said.  "  A  man  can't  be 
doing  much  harm  when  he  is  smok- 
ing his  pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's 
cigar.  Anything  was  allowed  to 
Phil,  the  other  lodgers  declared,  who 
professed  to  be  quite  jealous  of  Philip 
Firmin.  She  had  a  very  few  books, 
"  When  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to  be  al- 
ways reading  novels,"  she  said ;  "  but, 
la,  they  're  mostly  nonsense.  There 's 
Mr.  Pendennis,  who  comes  to  see  Mr. 
Ridley.  I  wonder  how  a  married 
man  can  go  on  writing  about  love, 
and  all  that  stufl"!  "  And,  indeed,  it 
is  rather  absurd  for  elderly  fingers  to 
be  still  twanging  Dan  Cupid's  toy 
bow  and  arrows.  Yesterday  is  gone, 
—  yes,  but  very  well  remembered; 
and  we  think  of  it  the  more  now  we 
know  that  To-morrow  is  not  going  to 
bring  us  much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlor  Mr. 
Ridley's  old  father  would  sometimes 
enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit 
of  bread  and  cheese,  or  the  modest 
supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  Cap- 
tain. The  homely  little  meal  has  al- 
most vanished  out  of  our  life  now,  but 
in  former  days  it  assembled  many  a 
family  round  its  kindly  board.  A 
little  modest  supper-tray, —  a  little 
quiet  prattle, —  a  little  kindly  glass 
that  cheered  and  never  inebriated.  I 
can  see  friendly  faces  smiling  round 
such  a  meal,  at  a  period  not  far  gone, 
but  how  distant !  I  wonder  whether 
there  are  any  old  folks  now,  in  old 
quarters  of  old  country  towns,  who 
come  to  each  other's  houses  in  sedan- 
chairs  at  six  o'clock,'  and  play  at 
quadrille  until  supper-tray  time  1  Of 
evenings  Ridley  and  the  captain,  I 
say,  would  have  a  solemn  game  at 
cribbage,  and  the  Little  Sister  would 
make  up  a  jug  of  something  good  for 
the  two  oldsters.  She  liked  Mr. 
Ridley  to  come,  for  he  always  treated 
her  father  so  respectful,  and  was  quite 
the  gentleman.  And  as  for  Mrs. 
Ridley,  Mr.  R.'s  "good  lady,"  —  was 
she  not  also  grateful  to  the  Little 
Sister  for  having  nursed  her  son 
during  his  malady?     Through  thsir 


108 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


connection  they  were  enabled  to  pro- 
cure Mrs.  Brandon  many  valuable 
friends  ;  and  always  were  pleased  to 
pass  an  evening  with  the  captain,  and 
were  as  civil  to  him  as  they  could 
have  been  had  he  been  at  the  very 
height  of  his  prosperity  and  splendor. 
My  private  opinion  of  the  old  captain, 
you  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worthless 
old  captiiin,  but  most  fortunate  in  his 
early  ruin,  after  which  he  had  lived 
very  much  admired  and  comfortable, 
sufficient  whiskey  being  almost  al- 
ways provided  for  him. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley's  respect  for  her 
father  afforded  a  most  precious  conso- 
lation to  the  Little  Sister.  Ridley 
liked  to  have  the  paper  read  to  him. 
He  was  never  quite  easy  with  print, 
and  to  his  last  days,  many  words  to 
be  met  with  in  newspapers  and  else- 
where used  to  occasion  the  good  but- 
ler much  intellectual  trouble.  The 
Little  Sister  made  his  lodgers'  bills 
out  for  him  (Mr.  R.,  as  well  as  the 
captain's  daughter,  strove  to  increase 
a  small  income  by  the  letting  of  fur- 
nished apartments),  or  the  captain 
himself  would  take  these  documents 
in  charge ;  he  wrote  a  noble  mercan- 
tile hand,  rendered  now  somewhat 
shaky  by  time,  but  still  very  fine  in 
flourishes  and  capitals,  and  very  much 
at  worthy  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time 
was,  when  his  son  was  a  boy,  that 
J.  J.  himself  had  prepared  these  ac- 
counts, which  neither  his  father  nor 
his  mother  were  very  competent  to 
arrange.  "  We  were  nor,  in  our 
young  time,  Mr.  Gann,"  Ridley  re- 
m.irked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to 
much  scholarship ;  and  very  little 
Ixjok-learnin^r  was  given  to  persons  in 
m>i  rank  of  life.  It  was  necessary 
and  proper  for  you  gentlemen,  of 
course,  sir.'  "  Of  course,  Mr.  Rid- 
ley," winks  the  other  veteran  over 
his  pipe.  "  But  I  can't  go  and  ask 
my  son  John  James  to  keep  his  old 
father's  books  now  as  he  used  to  do, — 
which  to  do  so  is,  on  the  part  of  you 
and  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  part  of  true 
friendship,  and  I  value  it,  sir,  and  so 
do  my  son  John  James  reckonize  and 


value  it,  sir."  Mr.  Ridley  had  served 
gentlemen  of  the  bonne  €cde.  No  no- 
bleman could  be  more  courtly  and 
grave  than  he  was.  In  Mr.  Gann's 
manner  there  was  more  humorous 
playfulness,  which  in  no  way,  how- 
ever, diminished  the  captain's  high 
breeding.  As  he  continued  to  be 
intimate  with  Mr.  Ridley,  he  became 
loftier  and  more  majestic.  I  think 
each  of  these  elders  acted  on  the  other, 
and  for  good ;  and  I  hope  Ridley's 
opinion  was  correct,  that  Mr.  Gann 
was  ever  the  gentleman.  To  see  these 
two  good  fogies  together  was  a  spec- 
tacle for  edification.  Their  tumblers 
kissed  each  other  on  the  table.  Their 
elderly  friendship  brought  comfort  to 
themselves  and  their  families.  A 
little  matter  of  money  once  created  a 
coolness  between  the  two  old  gentle- 
men. But  the  Little  Sister  paid  the 
outstanding  account  between  her 
father  and  Mr.  Ridley :  there  never 
was  any  further  talk  of  pecuniary 
loans  between  them  ;  and  when  they 
went  to  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  each 
paid  for  himself.  « 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly 
meeting  at  the  "Admiral's  Head, 
and  longed  to  be  of  the  company. 
But  even  when  he  saw  the  old  gentle- 
men in  the  Little  Sister's  parlor, 
they  felt  dimly  that  he  was  making 
fun  of  them.  The  captain  would  not 
have  been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had 
Phil  been  continually  watching  him. 
"  I  have  'ad  the  honor  of  waiting  on 
your  worthy  father  at  my  Lord  Tod- 
morden's  table.  Our  little  club  ain't 
no  place  for  you,  Mr.  Philip,  nor  for 
my  son,  though  he's  a  good  son,  and 
proud  me  and  his  mother  is  of  him, 
which  he  have  never  gave  us  a 
moment's  pain,  except  when  he  was 
ill,  since  he  have  came  to  man's  estate, 
most  thankful  am  I,  and  with  my 
hand  on  niy  heart,  for  to  be  able-  to 
say  so.  But  what  is  good  for  me  and 
Mr.  Gann  won't  suit  you  young 
gentlemen.  You  ain't  a  tradesman, 
sir,  else  I  'm  mistaken  in  the  family, 
which  I  thought  the  Ringwoods  one 
of    the    best    in    England,  and    the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


109 


Firmins  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr. 
Kidlcy  loved  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice.  At  the  festive  meetings  of  the 
club,  seldom  a  night  passed  in  which 
he  did  not  compliment  his  brother 
Byngs  and  air  his  own  oratory. 
Under  this  reproof  Phil  blushed,  and 
hung  his  conscious  head  with  shame. 
"  Mr.  Ridley,"  says  he,  "  you  shall 
find  I  won't  come  where  I  am  not 
welcome  ;  and  if  I  come  to  annoy  you 
at  the  'Admiral  Byng,'  may  I  be 
taken  out  on  the  quarter-deck  and 
shot."  On  which  Mr.  Ridley  pro- 
nounced Philip  to  be  a  "  most 
sing'lar,  astrornary,  and  ascentric 
young  man.  A  good  heart,  sir. 
Most  generous  to  relieve  distress. 
Fine  talent,  sir ;  but  I  fear  —  I  fear 
they  won't  come  to  much  good,  Mr. 
Gann  —  saving  your  presence,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  m'm,  whicli,  of  course,  you 
always  stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Firmin  had  had  his 
pipe  and  his  talk  with  the  Little 
Sister  in  iier  parlor,  he  would  ascend 
and  smoke  his  second,  third,  tenth 
pipe  in  J.  J.  Ridley's  studio.  He 
would  pass  hours  before  J.  J.'s  easel, 
pouring  out  talk  about  politics,  about 
religion,  about  poetry,  about  women, 
about  the  dreadful  slavishness  and 
meanness  of  the  world  ;  unwearied  in 
talk  and  idleness,  as  placid  J.  J.  was 
in  listening  and  labor.  The  painter 
had  been  too  busy  in  life  over  his 
easel  to  read  many "  books.  His 
ignorance  of  literature  smote  him 
with  a  frequent  shame.  He  admired 
book-writers,  and  young  men  of  the 
University  who  quoted  their  Greek 
and  their  Horace  glibly.  He  listened 
with  deference  to  their  talk  on  such 
matters ;  no  doubt  got  good  hints 
from  some  of  them ;  was  always 
secretly  pained  and  surprised  when 
the  university  gentlemen  were  beaten 
in  argument,  or  loud  and  coarse  in 
conversation,  as  sometimes  they 
would  be.  "  J.  J.  is  a  very  clever 
fellow,  of  course,"  Mr.  Jarman  would 
say  of  him,  "and  the  luckiest  man  in 
Europe.  He  loves  painting,  and  he 
is  at  work  all  day.     He  loves  toadying 


fine  people,  and  he  goes  to  a  tea-party 
every  night."  You  all  knew  Jarman 
of  Charlotte  Street,  the  miniature- 
painter?  He  was  one  of  the  kings 
of  the  "  Haunt."  His  tongue  spared 
no  one.  He  envied  all  success,  and 
the  sight  of  prosperity  made  him 
furious :  but  to  the  unsuccessful  he 
was  kind ;  to  the  poor  eager  with 
help  and  prodigal  of  compassion ; 
and  that  old  talk  about  nature's 
noblemen  and  the  glory  of  labor 
was  very  fiercely  and  eloquently 
waged  by  him.  His  friends  admired 
him  :  he  was  the  soul  of  independence 
and  thought  most  men  sneaks  who 
wore  clean  linen  and  frequented 
gentlemen's  society  :  but  it  must  be 
owned  his  landlords  had  a  bad  opinion 
of  him,  and  I  have  heard  of  one  or 
two  of  his  pecuniary  transactions 
which  certainly  were  not  to  Mr 
Jarman's  credit.  Jarman  was  a  man 
of  remarkable  humor.  He  was 
fond  of  the  widow,  and  would  speak 
of  her  goodness,  usefulness,  and 
honesty  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  She 
was  poor  and  struggling  yet.  Had 
she  been  wealthy  and  prosperous,  Mr. 
Jarman  would  not  have  been  so  alive 
to  her  merit. 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first 
floor,  where  the  centre  window  has 
been  heightened,  so  as  to  afford  an 
upper  light,  and  under  that  stream 
of  radiance  we  behold  the  head  of  an 
old  friend,  Mr.  J.  J.  Ridley,  the  R. 
Academician.  Time  has  somewhat 
thinned  his  own  copious  locks,  and 
prematurely  streaked  the  head  with 
silver.  His  face  is  lather  wan  ;  the 
eager,  sensitive  hand  which  poises 
brush  and  palette,  and  quivers  over 
the  picture,  is  very  thin  :  round  his 
eyes  are  many  lines  of  ill  health 
and,  perhaps,  care,  but  the  eyes  are 
as  bright  as  ever,  and,  when  they 
look  at  the  canvas  or  the  model 
which  he  transfers  to  it,  clear,  and 
keen,  and  happy.  He  has  a  very 
sweet  singing  voice,  and  warbles  at 
his  work,  or  whistles  at  it,  smiling. 
He  sets  his  hand  little  feats  of  skill 
to  perform,  and  smiles  with  a  boyish 


110 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP: 


pleasure  at  his  own  matchless  dexter- 
ity. I  have  seen  him,  with  an  old 
pewter  mustard-pot  for  a  model, 
fashion  a  splendid  silver  flagon  in  one 
of  his  pictures  ;  paint  the  hair  of  an 
animal,  the  folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit 
of  brocade,  and  so  forth,  with  a  per- 
fect delight  in  the  work  he  was  per- 
forming :  a  delight  lasting  from  morn- 
ing till  sundown,  during  wliich  time 
he  was  too  busy  to  touch  the  biscuit 
and  glass  of  water  which  was  pre- 
pared for  his  frugal  luncheon.  He 
IS  greedy  of  the  last  minute  of  light, 
and  never  can  be  got  from  his  darling 
pictures  without  a  regret.  To  be 
a  painter,  and  to  have  your  hand  in 
perfect  command,  I  hold  to  be  one  of 
life's  summa  bona.  The  happy  mix- 
ture of  hand  and  head  work  must 
render  the  occupation  supremely 
pleasant.  In  the  day's  work  must 
occur  endless  delightful  difficulties 
and  occasions  for  skill.  Over  the 
details  of  that  armor,  that  draperj-, 
or  wliat  not,  the  sparkle  of  that  eye, 
the  downy  blush  of  that  cheek,  the 
jewel  on  that  neck,  there  are  battles 
to  be  fought  and  victories  to  be  won. 
Each  day  there  must  occur  critical 
moments  of  supreme  struggle  and 
triumph,  when  struggle  and  victory 
must  be  both  invigorating  and 
exquisitely  pleasing,  —  as  a  burst 
across  country  is  to  a  fine  rider 
perfectly  mounted,  who  knows  that 
his  courage  and  his  horse  will  never 
fail  him.  There  is  the  excitement  of 
the  game,  and  the  gallant  delight  in 
winning  it.  Of  tiiis  sort  of  admi- 
rable reward  for  their  labor,  no  men, 
I  think,  have  a  greater  share  than 
painters  (perhaps  a  violin-player  per- 
fectly and  triumphantly  performing 
his  own  beautiful  composition  mav 
be  equally  happy).  Here  is  occupa- 
tion :  here  is  excitement :  here  is 
struggle  and  victory :  and  here  is 
profit.  Can  man  ask  more  from 
fortune  ?  Dukes  and  Rothschilds 
may  be  envious  of  such  a  man. 

Though  Ridley  has  had  his  trials 
and  troubles,  as  we  shall  presently 
learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all. 


Black  care  may  have  sat  in  crupper 
on  that  Pegasus,  but  has  never  un- 
horsed the  rider.  In  certain  minds, 
art  is  dominant  and  superior  to  all 
beside,  —  stronger  than  love,  stronger 
than  hate,  or  care,  or  penury.  As 
soon  as  the  fever  leaves  the  hand  free, 
it  is  seizing  and  fondling  the  pencil. 
Love  may  frown  and  be  false,  but  the 
other  mistress  never  will.  She  is  al- 
ways true  :  always  new  :  always  the 
friend,  companion,  inestimable  con- 
soler. So  John  James  Ridley  sat  at 
his  easel  from  breakfast  till  sundown, 
and  never  left  his  work  quite  wil- 
lingly. I  wonder  are  men  of  other 
trades  so  enamored  of  theirs ;  whether 
lawyers  cling  to  the  last  to  their  dar- 
ling reports ;  or  writers  prefer  their 
desks  and  inkstands  to  society,  to 
friendship,  to  dear  idleness  1  I  have 
seen  no  men  in  life  loving  their  pro- 
fessions so  much  as  painters,  except, 
perhaps,  actors,  who,  when  not  en- 
gaged themselves,  always  go  to  the 
play. 

Before  this  busy  easel  Phil  would 
sit  for  hours,  and  pour  out  endless 
talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  pres- 
ence was  a  delight  to  Ridley's  soul ; 
his  face  a  sunshine ;  his  voice  a  cor- 
dial. Weakly  himself,  and  almost  in- 
firm of  body,  with  sensibilities  trem- 
ulously keen,  the  painter  most  ad- 
mired amongst  men  strength,  health, 
goo<l  spirits,  good  breeding.  Of  these, 
in  his  youth,  Philip  had  a  wealth  of 
etidowment ;  and  I  hope  these  pre- 
cious gifts  of  fortune  have  not  left  him 
in  his  maturer  age.  I  do  not  say  that 
with  all  men  Philip  was  so  popular. 
There  are  some  who  never  can  pardon 
good  fortune,  and  in  the  company  of 
gentlemen  are  on  the  watch  for  of- 
fence ;  and,  no  doubt,  in  his  course 
through  life,  poor  downright  Phil 
trampled  upon  corns  enough  of  those 
who  met  him  in  his  way.  "  Do  you 
know  why  Ridley  is  so  fond  of  Fir- 
min  ?  "  asked  Jarman.  "Because 
Firmin's  father  hangs  on  to  the  no- 
bility by  the  pulse,  whilst  Ridley,  you 
know,  is  connected  with  them  through 
the  sideboard."     So  Jarman  had  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Ill 


double  horn  for  his  adversary  :  he 
could  despise  a  man  for  not  beinf^  a 
gentleman,  and  insult  him  for  beinjj 
one.  I  have  met  with  people  in  the 
world  with  whom  the  latter  offence  is 
an  unpardonable  crime,  —  a  cause  of 
ceaseless  doubt,  division,  and  sus- 
picion. What  more  common  or  nat- 
ural, Bufo,  than  to  hate  another 
for  being  what  you  are  not?  The 
story  is  as  old  as  frogs,  bulls,  and 
men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besides  your  en- 
viers  in  life,  there  are  your  admirers. 
Beyond  wit,  which  he  understood,  — 
beyond  genius,  which  he  had,  —  Rid- 
ley admired  good  looks  and  manners, 
and  always  kept  some  simple  hero 
whom  he  loved  secretly  to  cherish  and 
worship.  He  loved  to  be  amongst 
beautiful  women  and  aristocratical 
men.  Philip  Firmin,  with  his  repub- 
lican notions  and  downright  blunt- 
ness  of  behavior  to  all  men  of  rank 
superior  to  him,  had  a  grand  high 
manner  of  his  own ;  and  if  he  had 
scarce  twopence  in  his  pocket,  would 
have  put  his  hands  in  them  with  as 
much  independence  as  the  greatest 
dandy  who  ever  sauntered  on  Pall 
Mall  pavement.  What  a  coolness  the 
fellow  had  !  Some  men  may,  not  un- 
reasonably, have  thought  it  impu- 
dence. It  fascinated  Eidley.  To  be 
such  a  man ;  to  have  such  a  figure 
and  manner;  to  be  able  to  look  so- 
ciety in  the  face,  slap  it  on  the  shoul- 
der, if  you  were  so  minded,  and  hold 
it  by  the  button,  —  what  would  not 
Ridley  give  for  such  powers  and  ac- 
complishments? You  will  please  to 
bear  in  mind,  I  am  not  saying  that  J. 
J.  was  right,  only  that  he  was  as  he 
was.  I  hope  wc  shall  have  nobody 
in  this  story  without  his  little  faults 
and  peculiarities.  Jarman  was  quite 
right  when  he  said  Ridley  loved  fine 
company.  I  believe  his  pedigree  gave 
him  secret  anguishes.  He  would 
rather  have  been  gentleman  than 
genius  ever  so  great;  but  let  you  and 
me,  who  have  no  weaknesses  of  our 
own,  try  and  look  charitably  on  this 
confessed  foible  of  my  friend. 


J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking 
Philip  for  being  idle.  Phil  was  as 
the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's 
opinion.  He  was  not  called  upon  to 
toil  or  spin ;  but  to  take  his  ease,  and 
grow  and  bask  in  sunshine,  and  be 
arrayed  in  glory.  Tlie  little  clique 
of  painters  knew  what  Pirmin's  means 
were.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  of  his 
own.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  down, 
sir ;  and  the  inheritance  of  his  fa- 
ther's immense  fortune !  A  splendor 
emanated  from  this  gifted  young  man. 
His  opinions,  his  jokes,  his  laughter, 
his  song,  had  the  weight  of  thirty 
thousand  down,  sir;  and  &c.,  &c. 
What  call  had  he  to  work  ?  Would 
you  set  a  young  nobleman  to  be  an 
apprentice  ?  Philip  was  free  to  be  as 
idle  as  any  lord,  if  he  liked.  He 
ought  to  wear  fine  clothes,  ride  fine 
horses,  dine  oft"  plate,  and  drink 
champagne  every  day.  J.  J.  would 
work  quite  cheerfully  till  sunset,  and 
have  an  eightpcnny  plate  of  meat  in 
Wardour  Street  and  a  glass  of  porter 
for  his  humble  dinner.  At  the 
"  Haunt,"  and  similar  places  of  Bo- 
hemian resort,  a  snug  place  near  the 
fire  was  always  found  for  Firmin. 
Fierce  republican  as  he  was,  Jarman 
had  a  smile  for  his  Lordship,  and  used 
to  adopt  particularly  dandified  iiirs 
when  he  had  been  invited  to  Old  Pan- 
Street  to  dinner.  I  dare  say  Philip 
liked  flattery.  I  own  that  he  was  a 
little  weak  in  this  respect,  and  that 
you  and  I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  course, 
far  his  superiors.  J.  J.,  who  loved 
him,  would  have  had  him  follow  his 
aunt's  and  cousin's  advice,  and  live 
in  better  company  ;  but  I  think  the 
painter  would  not  have  liked  his  pet 
to  soil  his  hands  with  too  much  work, 
and  rather  admired  Mr.  Phil  for  be- 
ing idle. 

The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice, 
to  be  sure,  both  as  to  the  company  he 
should  keep  and  the  occupation  which 
was  wholesome  for  him.  But  when 
others  of  his  acquaintance  hinted  that 
his  idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she 
would  not  hear  of  their  censure. 
"  Why  should  he  work  if  he  don't 


us 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


choose  ■?  "  she  asked.  "  He  has  no 
call  to  be  scribbling  and  scrabbling. 
You  would  n't  have  Am  sitting  all 
day  painting  little  dolls'  heads  on 
canvas,  and  working  like  a  slave.  A 
pretty  idea,  indeed !  His  uncle  will 
get  him  an  appointment.  That 's  the 
thing  he  should  have.  He  should  be 
secretary  to  an  ambassador  abroad, 
and  he  will  be ! "  In  fact  Phil,  at  this 
period,  used  to  announce  his  wish  to 
enter  the  diplomatic  service,  and  his 
hope  that  Lord  Ringwood  would  fur- 
ther his  views  in  that  respect.  Mean- 
while he  was  the  king  of  Thornhaugh 
Street.  He  might  be  as  idle  as  he 
chose,  and  Mrs.  Brandon  had  always 
a  smile  for  him.  He  might  smoke  a 
great  deal  too  much,  but  she  worked 
dainty  little  cigar-cases  for  him.  She 
hemmed  his  fine  cambric  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  and  embroidered  his 
crest  at  the  corners.  She  worked 
him  a  waistcoat  so  splendid  that  he 
almost  blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous 
as  he  was  in  apparel  at  this  period, 
and  sumptuous  in  chains,  studs,  and 
haberdashery.  I  fear  Dr.  Firmin, 
sighing  out  his  disappointed  hopes  in 
respect  of  his  son,  has  rather  good 
cause  for  his  dissatisfaction.  But  of 
these  remonstrances  the  Little  Sister 
would  not  hear.  "  Idle,  why  not  ? 
Why  should  he  work  ?  Boys  will  be 
boys.  I  dare  say  his  grumbling  old 
Pa  was  not  better  than  Philip  when 
he  was  young  ! "  And  this  she  spoke 
with  a  heightened  color  in  her  little 
face,  and  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head, 
of  which  I  did  not  understand  all  the 
significance  then  ;  but  attributed  her 
eager  partisanship  to  that  admirable 
injustice  which  belongs  to  all  good 
women,  and  for  which  let  us  be  daily 
thankful.  I  know,  dear  ladies,  you 
are  angry  at  this  statement.  But, 
even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  yon, 
we  must  tell  the  truth.  You  would 
wish  to  represent  yourselves  as  equi- 
table, logical,  and  strictly  just.  So,  I 
dare  say.  Dr.  Johnson  would  have 
liked  Mrs.  Thrale  to  say  to  him, 
"  Sir,  your  manners  arc  graceful  ; 
your  person  elegant,  cleanly,  and  em- 


inently pleasing ;  your  appetite  small 
(especially  for  tea),  and  your  dancing 
equal  to  the  Violetta's  "  ;  which,  you 
perceive,  is  merely  ironical.  Women 
equitable,  logical,  and  strictly  just! 
Mercy  upon  us  !  If  they  were,  pop- 
ulation would  cease,  the  world  would 
be  a  howling  wilderness.  Well,  in  a 
word,  this  Little  Sister  petted  and 
coaxed  Philip  Firmin  in  such  an  ab- 
surd way  that  every  one  remarked 
it,  —  those  who  had  no  friends,  no 
sweethearts,  no  mothers,  no  daugh- 
ters, no  wives,  and  those  who  were 
petted,  and  coaxed,  and  spoiled  at 
home  themselves ;  as  I  trust,  dearly 
beloved,  is  your  case. 

Now,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Phil- 
ip's father  had  reason  to  be  angry  with 
the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste 
for  low  company ;  but  excuse  the 
young  man,  on  the  other  hand,  some- 
what for  his  fierce  revolt  and  profound 
distaste  at  much  in  his  home  circle 
which  annoyed  him.  "  By  Heaven ! " 
he  would  roar  out,  pulling  his  hair  and 
whiskers,  and  with  many  fierce  ejac- 
ulations, according  to  his  wont,  "  the 
solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sickens 
me  so,  that  I  should  like  to  crown  the 
old  bishop  with  the  soup-tureen,  and 
box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the 
saddle  of  mutton.  At  my  aunt's,  the 
humbug  is  just  the  same.  It 's  better 
done,  perhaps ;  but  O  Pendennis  !  if 
you  could  but  know  the  pangs  which 
tore  into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture 
which  gnawed  at  this  confounded 
liver,  when  I  saw  women  —  women 
who  ought  to  be  pure, —  women  who 
ought  to  be  like  aufjels, —  women  who 
ought  to  know  no  art  but  that  of 
coaxing  our  griefs  away  and  soothing 
our  sorrows  —  fawning,  and  crin- 
ging, and  .scheming ;  cold  to  this 
person,  humble  to  that,  flattering  to 
the  rich,  and  indifferent  to  the  humble 
in  station.  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  all 
this,  Mrs.  Pendennis !  I  won't  men- 
tion names,  but  I  have  met  with 
those  who  have  made  me  old  before 
my  time  —  a  hundred  years  old  !  The 
zest  of  life  is  passed  from  me  "  (here 
Mr.  Phil  would  gulp  a  bumper  from 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


113 


the  nearest  decanter  at  hand).  "  But 
if  I  like  what  your  husband  is  pleased 
to  call  low  society,  it  is  because  I  have 
seen  the  other.  I  have  dangled  about 
at  fine  parties,  and  danced  at  fashion- 
able balls.  I  have  seen  mothers  bring 
their  virgin  daughters  up  to  battered 
old  rakes,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  their 
innocence  for  fortune  or  a  title.  The 
atmosphere  of  those  polite  drawing- 
rooms  stifles  me.  I  can't  bow  the  knee 
to  the  horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk 
about  in  the  crowds  as  lonely  as  if  I 
was  in  a  wilderness ;  and  don't  begin 
to  breathe  freely  until  I  get  some 
honest  tobacco  to  clear  the  air.  As  for 
your  husband"  (meaning  the  writer 
of  this  memoir),  "  he  cannot  help 
himself;  he  is  a  worldling,  of  the  earth, 
earthy.  If  a  duke  were  to  ask  him  to 
dinner  to-morrow,  the  parasite  owns 
that  he  would  go.  Allow  me,  my 
friends,  my  freedom,  my  rough  com- 

f anions,  in  their  work-day  clothes. 
don't  hear  such  lies  and  flatteries 
•"ome  from  behind  pipes,  as  used  to 
pass  from  above  white  chokers  when 
I  was  in  the  world."  And  he  would 
tear  at  his  cravat,  as  though  the  mere 
thought  of  the  world's  conventionality 
wellnigh  strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  stage 
of  his  career,  but  I  take  up  the  biog- 
raphy here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the 
best  idea  I  may  of  my  friend's  char- 
acter. At  this  time  —  he  is  out  of  the 
country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he 
saw  his  own  likeness  staring  him  in 
the  face,  I  am  confident  he  would 
not  know  it  —  Mr.  Philip,  in  some 
things,  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule, 
and  in  others  as  weak  as  a  woman. 
He  had  a  childish  sensibility  for  what 
was  tender,  helpless,  pretty,  or  pa- 
thetic ;  and  a  mighty  scorn  of  im- 
posture, wherever  he  found  it.  He 
had  many"  good  purposes,  which  were 
often  very  vacillating,  and  were  but 
seldom  performed.  He  had  a  vast 
number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  you 
know,  idleness  is  said  to  be  the  root. 
Many  of  these  evil  propensities  he 
coaxed  and  cuddled  with  much  care ; 
and  though  he  roared  out  peccavi  most 


frankly  when  charged  with  his  sins, 
this  criminal  would  fall  to  peccatiou 
very  soon  after  promising  amendment. 
What  he  liked  he  would  have.  What 
he  disliked  he  could  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  be  found  to  do.  He  liked 
good  dinners,  good  wine,  good  horses, 
good  clothes,  and  late  hours ;  and  in 
all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any 
others  which  he  fancied,  or  which  were 
within  his  means)  he  indulged  him- 
self with  perfect  freedom.  He  hated 
hypocrisy  on  his  own  part,  and  hypo- 
crites in  general.  He  said  everything 
that  came  into  his  mind  about  things 
and  people  ;  and,  of  course,  was  often 
wrong  and  often  prejudiced,  and  often 
occasioned  howls  of  indignation  or 
malignant  whispers  of  hatred  by  his 
free  speaking.  He  believed  everything 
that  was  said  to  him  until  his  inform- 
ant had  misled  him  once  or  twice, 
after  which  he  would  believe  nothing. 
And  here  you  will  see  that  his  im- 
petuous credulity  was  as  absurd  as 
the  subsequent  obstinacy  of  his  un- 
belief. My  dear  young  friend,  the 
profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle 
way.  Don't  quite  believe  anybody, 
for  he  may  mislead  you  ;  neither  dis- 
believe him,  for  that  is  uncompliment- 
ary to  your  friend.  Black  is  not  so 
very  black ;  and  as  for  white,  boii 
Dieu  !  in  our  climate  what  paint  will 
remain  white  long  ?  If  Philip  was  self- 
indulgent,  I  suppose  other  people  are 
self-indulgent  likewise;  and  besides, 
you  know,  your  faultless  heroes  have 
ever  so  long  gone  out  of  fashion.  To 
be  young,  to  be  good-looking,  to  be 
healthy,  to  be  hungry  three  times  a 
day,  to  have  plenty  of  money,  a  great 
alacrity  of  sleeping,  and  nothing  to 
do, —  all  these.  I  dare  say,  are  very  dan- 
gerous temptations  to  a  man,  but  I 
think  I  know  some  who  would  like 
to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the  trial. 
Suppose  there  be  holidays,  is  there 
not  work-time  too  ?  Suppose  to-day 
is  feast-day ;  may  not  tears  and  re- 
pentance come  to-morrow  ?  Such 
times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil, 
and  so  please  to  let  him  have  rest  and 
comfort  for  a  chapter  or  two. 


lU 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  VIl 

IMPLETCE  VETEKI8  BACCHI. 

That   time,  that  merry    time,  of 
Brandon's,  of  Bohemia,  of  oysters,  of 
idleness,  of  smoking,  of  song  at  night 
and  profuse  soda-water  in  the  motning, 
of  a  pillow,  lonely  and  bachelor  it  is 
true,  but  with  few  cares  for  bedfellows, 
of  plenteous  pocket-money,  of  ease  for 
to-day  and  little  heed  for  to-morrow, 
was  often  remembered  by  Philip  in 
after  days.     Mr.  Phil's  views  of  life 
were  not  very  exalted,    were    they  f 
The  fruits  of  this  world,  which  he  de- 
voured with  such  gusto,  I  must  own 
were  of  the  common  kitchen-garden 
sort ;  and  the  lazy  rogue's  ambition 
went  no  further  than  to  stroll  along 
the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  his   fill,    and 
then  repose  comfortably  in  the  arbor 
under  the  arched  vine.  Why  did  Phil's 
mother's  parents  leave  her  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  ?  I  dare  say  some  mis- 
guided people  would  be  glad  to  do  as 
much  for  their  sons ;  but,   if  I  have  | 
ten,  I  am  determined  they  shall  either 
have  a  hundred  thousand  apiece,  or  '■ 
else  bare  bread   and  cheese.     "  Man 
was  made  to  labor,  and  to  be  lazy," 
Phil  would  aflSrm  with  his  usual  ener-  j 
gy  of  expression.     "  When  the  Indian 
warrior  goes  on  the  hunting  path,  he 
is  sober,  active,  indomitable.    No  dan-  j 
gers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire,  j 
He  endures  the  cold  of  the  winter  ;  he  | 
couches  on  the  forest  leaves  ;  he  sub-  1 
gists  on  frugal    roots    or   the  casual 
spoil  of  his  bow.     When  he  returns  to 
his  village,  he  gorges  to  repletion  ;  he 
sleeps,  perhaps,  to  excess.     When  the 
game  is  devoured,  and  the  fire-water 
exhausted,  again  he  sallies  forth  into  ! 
the    wilderness ;     he    outclimbs    the 
'possum,  and  he  throttles    the    bear.  I 
1  am  the  Indian  :  and  this  "  Haunt " 
is  my  wigwam  !   Barbara,  my  squaw, 
bring  me  oysters;  bring  me  a  jug  of 
the  frothing    black  beer  of  the  pale- 
faces, or  I  will  hang  up  thy  scalp  on 
my  tent-pole  1 "  And  old  Barbara,  the 
good  old  attendant  of  this  "  Haunt  " 
of  bandits,    would  say,  "  Law,    Mr. 
Philip,  how  you  do  go  on,  to  be  sure ! " 


Where  is  the  "  Haunt "  now  ?  and 
where  are  the  merry  men  all  who  there 
assembled  ?  The  sign  is  down  ;  the 
song  is  silent ;  the  sand  is  swept  from 
the  floor ;  the  pipes  are  broken,  and 
the  ashes  are  scattered. 

A  little  more  gossip  about  his  merry 
days,  and  we  have  done.  He,  Philip, 
was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course, 
and  at  his  call-supper  we  assembled  a 
dozen  of  his  elderly  and  youthful 
friends.  The  chambers  in  Parchment 
Buildings  were  given  up  to  him  for 
this  day.  Mr.  Vanjohn,  I  think, 
was  away  attending  a  steeple-chase ; 
but  Mr.  Cassidy  was  with  us,  and 
several  of  Pliilip's  acquaintances  of 
school,  college,  and  the  world.  There 
was  PhUip's  father,  and  Philip's  uncle 
Twysden,  and  I,  Phil's  revered  and 
respectable  school  senior,  and  others 
of  our  ancient  seminary.  There  was 
Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of 
his  year,  great  in  metaphysics,  greater 
with  the  knife  and  fork.  There  was 
Stackpole,  Eblana's  favorite  child,  — 
the  glutton  of  all  learning,  the  master 
of  many  languages,  who  stuttered  and 
blushed  when  he  spoke  his  own. 
There  was  Pinkerton,  who,  albeit  an 
ignoramus  at  the  University,  was  al- 
ready ^vinning  prodigious  triumphs 
at  the  Parliamentary  bar,  and  invest- 
ing in  Consols  to  the  admiration  of 
all  his  contemporaries.  There  was 
Rosebury  the  beautiful,  the  May  Fair 
pet  and  delight  of  Almack's,  the  cards 
on  whose  mantel-piece  made  all  men 
open  the  eyes  of  wonder,  and  some  of 
us  dart  the  scowl  of  envy.  There 
was  my  Lord  Egham,  Lord  Ascot's 
noble  son.  There  was  Tom  Dale, 
who,  having  carried  on  his  university 
career  too  splendidly,  had  come  to 
grief  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  was  now 
meekly  earning  his  bread  in  the  re- 
porters' gallery,  alongside  of  Cassidy. 
There  was  Macbride,  who,  having 
thrown  up  his  fellowship  and  married 
his  cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave 
battle  with  poverty,  and  making 
literature  feed  him  until  law  should 
reward  him  more  splendidly.  There 
was  Haythom,  the  count^   gentle- 


THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  PHILIP. 


115 


man,  who  ever  remembered  his  old 
college  chums,  and  kept  the  memory 
of  that  friendship  up  by  constant  re- 
minders of  pheasants  and  game  in  the 
season.  There  were  Raby  and  May- 
nard  from  the  Guards'  Club  (May- 
nard  sleeps  now  under  Crimean 
snows),  who  preferred  arms  to  the 
toga ;  but  carried  into  their  military 
lite  the  love  of  their  old  books,  the 
affection  of  their  old  friends.  Most 
of  these  must  be  mute  personages  in 
our  little  drama.  Could  any  chroni- 
cler remember  the  talk  of  all  of  them  ? 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were 
members  of  the  Inn  of  Court  (the 
Upper  Temple),  which  had  conferred 
on  Philip  the  degree  of  Barrister-at- 
Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and 
gown  (Blackmore's  wig  and  gown)  in 
the  inn-hall  that  day,  in  company 
with  other  members  of  his  inn  ;  and, 
dinner' over,  we  adjourned  to  Phil's 
chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings, 
where  a  dessert  was  served,  to  which 
Mr.  Firmin's  friends  were  convoked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's 
cellar.  His  servants  were  in  attend- 
ance to  wait  upon  the  company. 
Father  and  son  both  loved  splendid 
hospitalities,  and,  so  far  as  creature 
comforts  went,  Philip's  feast  was 
richly  provided.  "  A  supper,  I  love 
a  supper  of  all  things  !  And  in  order 
that  I  might  enjoy  yours,  I  only  took 
a  single  mutton-chop  for  dinner!" 
cried  Mr.  Twysden,  as  he  greeted 
Philip.  Indeed,  we  found  him,  as 
we  arrived  from  Hall,  already  in  the 
chambers,  and  eating  the  young  bar- 
rister's dessert.  "  He  's  been  here 
ever  so  long,"  says  Mr.  Brice,  who 
officiated  as  butler,  "  pegging  away 
at  the  olives  and  maccaroons. 
Should  n't  wonder  if  he  has  pocketed 
some."  There  was  small  respect  on 
the  part  of  Brice  for  Mr.  Twysden, 
whom  the  worthy  butler  frankly  pro- 
nounced to  be  a  stingy  'umbug. 
Meanwhile,  Talbot  believed  that  the 
old  man  respected  him,  and  always 
conversed  with  Brice,  and  treated 
him  with  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  ar- 


rived, and  but  that  the  wine  and  men 
were  older,  one  might  have  fancied 
one's  self  at  a  college  wine-party.  Mr. 
Twysden  talked  for  the  whole  com- 
pany. He  was  radiant.  He  felt  him- 
self in  hijih  spirits.  He  did  the  hon- 
ors of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man 
was  more  hospitable  with  other  folks' 
wine.  Philip  himself  was  silent  and 
nervous.  1  asked  him  if  the  awful 
ceremony,  which  he  had  just  under- 
gone, was  weighing  on  his  mind  ? 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously 
towards  the  door ;  and,  knowing 
somewhat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at 
home,  I  thought  that  probably  he 
and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  dis- 
putes which  of  late  days  had  become 
so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company  were  nearly  all  as- 
sembled and  busy  with  their  ta}k,  and 
drinking  the  Doctor's  excellent  claret, 
when  Brice,  entering,  announced  Dr. 
Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt,"  Philip 
was  going  to  say ;  but  he  started  up, 
went  forward  to  his  father,  and 
greeted  him  very  respectfully.  He 
then  gave  a  bow  to  the  gentleman  in- 
troduced as  Mr.  Hunt,  and  they  found 
places  at  the  table,  the  Doctor  taking 
his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been 
pretty  brisk  until  Dr.  Firmin  came, 
drooped  a  little  after  his  appearance. 
"  We  had  an  awful  row  two  days 
ago,"  Philip  whispered  to  me.  "  We 
shook  hands  and  are  reconciled,  as 
you  see.  He  won't  stay  long.  He 
will  be  sent  for  in  half  an  hour  or  so. 
He  will  say  he  has  been  sent  for  by  a 
duchess,  and  go  and  have  tea  at  the 
club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowed,  and  smiled  sad- 
ly at  me,  as  Philip  was  speaking.  I 
dare  say  I  blushed  somewhat,  and  felt 
as  if  the  Doctor  knew  what  his  son 
was  saying  to  me.  He  presently  en- 
gaged in  conversation  with  Lord  Eg- 
ham ;  he  hoped  his  good  father  was 
well  ■? 

"  You  keep  him  so.  Doctor,  i  ou 
don't  give  a  fellow  a  chance,'  sayB 
the  young  lord. 


116 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  Pass  the  bottle,  you  young  men  ! 
Hey !  We  intend  to  see  you  all 
out ! "  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on 
pleasure  bent  and  of  the  frugal 
mind. 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger 
introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt ;  "  and  right 
good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin  1  I  think  I 
know  the  tap !  "  and  he  smacked  his 
lips  over  the  claret.  "  It 's  your  twen- 
ty-five, and  no  mistake." 

"  The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a 
connoisseur,"  whispered  Rosebury  at 
my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was 
somewhat  rosy.  And  to  this  I  may 
add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his 
face  pale,  and  not  well  shorn,  his 
white  neckcloth  dingy,  and  his  eyes 
bloodshot. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed 
in  his  clothes,  and  carries  a  plentiful 
flue  about  his  person.  Who  is  your 
father's  esteemed  friend "?  "  continues 
the  wag,  in  an  under  voice. 

"  You  heard  his  name,  Rosebu- 
ry," says  the  young  barrister,  gloom- 
ily. 

"  I  should  suggest  that  your  father 
is  in  difficulties,  and  attended  by  an 
officer  of  the  sheriff  of  London,  or 
perhaps  subject  to  mental  aberration, 
and  placed  under  the  control  of  a 
keeper." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  do  ! "  groaned 
Philip.  And  here  Twysden,  who  was 
longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make 
a  speech,  bounced  up  from  his  chair, 
and  stopped  the  facetious  barrister's 
further  remarks  by  his  own  eloquence. 
His  discourse  was  in  praise  of  Philip, 
the  new-made  barrister.  "  What !  if 
no  one  else  will  give  that  toast,  your 
uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt  bless- 
ing go  with  you  too,  my  boy  ! "  cried 
the  little  man.  He  was  prodigal  of 
benedictions.  He  dashed  aside  the 
tear-drop  of  emotion.  He  spoke  with 
perfect  fluency,  and  for  a  considerable 
period.  He  really  made  a  good 
speech,  and  was  greeted  with  de- 
served cheers  when  at  length  he  sat 
down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  words  in  re- 


ply to  his  uncle's  voluble  compli- 
ments ;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a 
young  nobleman  of  much  familiar 
humor,  proposed  Phil's  father,  his 
health,  and  song.  The  physician 
made  a  neat  speech  from  behind  his 
ruffled  shirt.  He  w;is  agitated  by  the 
tender  feelings  of  a  paternal  heart,  he 
said,  glancing  benignly  at  Phil,  who 
was  cracking  filberts.  To  see  his  son 
happy ;  to  see  him  surrounded  by 
such  friends  ;  to  know  him  embarked 
this  day  in  a  profession  which  gave 
the  greatest  scope  for  talents,  the  no- 
blest reward  for  industry,  was  a  proud 
and  happy  moment  to  liim,  Dr.  Fir- 
min. What  had  the  poet  obser\'ed  1 
"  Ingenuas  didicisse  Jideiiter  artes " 
(hear,  hear!)  "etnollit  mores," — yes, 
"emollit  mores."  He  drank  a  bumper 
to  the  young  barrister  (he  waved  his 
ring,  with  a  thimbleful  of  wine  in  his 
glass).  He  pledged  the  young  friends 
whom  he  saw  assembled  to  cheer  his 
son  on  his  onward  path.  He  thanked 
them  with  a  father's  heart !  He 
passed  his  emerald  ring  across  his 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  lifted  them  to 
the  ceiling,  from  which  quarter  he  re- 
quested a  blessing  on  his  boy.  As 
though  "  spirits  "  approved  of  his  in- 
vocation, immense  thumps  came  from 
above,  along  with  the  plaudits  which 
saluted  the  Doctor's  speech  from  the 
gentlemen  round  the  table.  But  the 
upper  thumps  were  derisory,  and  came 
from  Mr.  Buffiirs,  of  the  third  floor, 
who  chose  this  method  of  mocking  our 
harmless  little  festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  face- 
tious Buffijrs,  though  meant  in  scorn 
of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and 
make  us  laugh.  Spite  of  all  the 
talking,  we  were  dull;  and  I  could 
not  but  allow  the  force  of  my  neigh- 
bor's remark,  that  we  were  sat  upon 
and  smothered  by  the  old  man.  One 
or  two  of  the  younger  gentlemen 
chafed  at  the  license  for  tobacco 
smoking  not  being  yet  accorded.  But 
Philip  interdicted  this  amusement  as 
yet. 

"  Don't,"  he  said ;  "  my  father 
don't  like  it.    He  has  to  see  patients 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


117 


to-night ;  and  they  can't  bear  the  smell 
of  tobacco  by  their  bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  with 
their  cigar-cases  by  their  sides.  They 
longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  ol>- 
stacle  to  their  happiness. 

"  He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He  '11 
be  sent  for,"  growled  Philip  to  me. 

The  Doctor  was  engaged  in  conver- 
sation to  the  right  and  left  of  him, 
and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move. 
But,  sure  enough,  at  a  few  minutes 
after  ten  o'clock,  Dr.  Firmin's  foot- 
man entered  the  room  with  a  note, 
which  Firmin  opened  and  read,  as 
Philip  looked  at  me  with  a  grim  hu- 
mor in  his  face.  I  think  Phil's  father 
knew  that  we  knew  he  was  acting. 
However,  he  went  through  the  com- 
edy quite  gravely. 

"A  physician's  time  is  not  his 
own,"  he  said,  shaking  his  hand- 
some, melancholy  head.  "  Good  by, 
my  dear  Lord !  Pray  remember  me 
at  home!  Good  night,  Philip,  my 
boy,  and  good  speed  to  you  in  your 
career !     Pray,  pray  don't  move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair 
hand  and  the  broad-brimmed  hat, 
with  the  beautiful  white  lining.  Phil 
conducted  him  to  the  door,  and  heaved 
a  sigh  as  it  closed  upon  his  father,  — 
a  sigh  of  relief,  I  think,  that  he  was 
gone. 

"  Exit  Governor.  What 's  the  Latin 
for  Governor  1 "  sa^s  Lord  Eghara, 
who  possessed  much  native  humor, 
but  not  very  profound  scholarship. 
"  A  most  venerable  old  parent,  Fir- 
min. That  hat  and  appearance 
would  command  any  sum  of  money." 

"  Excuse  me,"  lisps  Kosebury, 
"  but  why  did  n't  he  take  his  elderly 
friend  with  him,  —  the  dilapidated 
clerical  gentleman  who  is  drinking 
claret  so  freely  7  And  also,  why  did 
he  not  remove  your  avuncular  ora- 
tor 1  Mr.  Twysden,  your  interesting 
young  neophyte  has  provided  us  with 
an  excellent  specimen  of  the  cheerful 
produce  of  the  Gascon  grajje." 

"  Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentle- 
man is  gone,  let  us  pass  the  bottle 
and  make  a  night  of  it.     Hey,  ray 


Lord?"  cries  Twysden.  "Philip 
your  claret  is  good  !  I  say,  do  you 
remember  some  Chateau  Margaux  I 
had,  which  Winton  liked  so?  It 
must  be  good  if  he  praised  it,  I  can 
tell  you.  I  imported  it  myself,  and 
gave  him  the  address  of  the  Bordeaux 
merchant ;  and  he  said  he  had  seldom 
tasted  any  like  it.  Those  were  his 
very  words.  I  must  get  you  fellows 
to  come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  What  day  1  Name 
it,  generous  Amphitryon  ! "  cries 
Rosebury. 

"  Some  day  at  seven  o'clock.  With 
a  plain,  quiet  dinner,  —  a  clear  soup, 
a  bit  of  fish,  a  couple  of  little  en- 
trees, and  a  nice  little  roast.  That 's 
my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we  '11  taste 
that  claret,  young  men.  It  is  not  a 
heavy  wine.  It  is  not  a  first-class 
wine.  I  don't  mean  even  to  say  it  is 
a  dear  wine,  but  it  has  a  bouquet  and 
a  pureness.  What,  you  will  smoke, 
you  fellows  ? " 

"  We  will  do  it,  Mr.  Twysden. 
Better  do  as  the  rest  of  us  do.  Try 
one  of  these." 

The  little  man  accepts  the  proffered 
cigar  from  the  young  nobleman's  box, 
lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses 
into  silence. 

"  I  thought  that  would  do  for  him," 
murmurs  the  facetious  Egham.  "  It 
is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head 
off,  and  I  wish  it  would.  That  ci- 
gar," he  continues,  "  was  given  to  my 
father  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sido- 
nia,  who  had  it  out  of  the  Queen  of 
Spain's  own  box.  She  smokes  a  good 
deal,  but  naturally  likes  'em  mild.  I 
can  give  you  a  stronger  one." 

"  O  no.  I  dare  say  this  is  very 
fine.  Thank  you  ! "  says  poor  Tal- 
bot. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  can't  you !  " 
says  Philip.  "  Don't  make  a  fool  of 
him  before  the  young  men,  Egham." 

Philip  still  looked  very  dismal  in 
the  midst  of  the  festivity.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  difierences  with  his 
absent  parent. 

We  might  all  have  been  easily  con- 
soled, if  the  Doctor  had  taken  away 


"IM 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


with    him    the    elderly    companion , 
whom    he   had   introduced  to  Phil's 
feast.     He  could  not  have  been  very 
welcome     to     our     host,     for     Phil 
scowled  at  his  guest,  and  whispered,  i 
"  Hang  Hunt !  "  to  his  neighbor.         ; 

"  Hang  Hunt  "  —  the  Reverend 
Tufton  Hunt  was  his  name  —  was  in 
no  wise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness 
of  his  reception.  He  drank  his  wine 
very  freely  ;  addressed  himself  to  his 
neighbors  aflFably ;  and  called  out  a  } 
loud  "  Hear,  hear  !  "  to  Twysden,  , 
when  that  gentleman  announced  his 
intention  of  making  a  night  of  it.  As 
Mr.  Hunt  warmed  with  wine  he  spoke 
to  the  table.  He  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  Ringwood  family,  had 
been  very  intimate  at  Wingate,  in  old 
days,  as  he  told  Mr.  Twysden,  and 
an  intimate  friend  of  poor  Cinqbars, 
liord  liingwood's  only  son.  Xow, 
the  memory  of  the  late  Lord  Cinqbars 
was  not  an  agreeable  recollection  to 
the  relatives  of  the  house  of  Ring- 
wood.  He  was  in  life  a  dissipated 
and  disreputable  young  lord.  His 
name  was  seldom  mentioned  in  his 
family ;  never  by  his  father,  with 
whom  he  had  had  many  quarrels. 

"  You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars 
to  your  father,  Philip  ?  "  calls  out  the 
dingy  clergyman.  I 

"  I  have  heard  you  mention  the 
fact,"  says  Philip.  j 

"  They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  rooms 
in   Corpus.      Brummell    Firmin    we , 
used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days. 
He  was  the  greatest  buck  in  the  Uni- 
versity, —  always  a  dressy  man,  kept  1 
hunters,   gave    the    best    dinners  in 
Cambridge.       We   were  a  wild  set.  1 
There  was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin,  ! 
Beryl,  Toplady,  about  a  dozen  of  us,  ' 
almost   all   noblemen  or  fellow-com- 
moners, —  fellows  who  all  kept  their 
horses    and   had    their  private    ser- 
vants." I 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the 
company,  who  yet  did  not  seem  much 
odified  by  the  college  recollections  of 
the  dingy  elderly  man. 

"  Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir ! 
We  dined  with  each  other  week  about. 


Many  of  them  had  their  tandem*. 
Desperate  fellow  across  country  your 
father  was.  And  —  but  we  won't 
tell  tales  out  of  school,  hey  ?  " 

"  No ;  please  don't,  sir,"  said 
Philip,  clenching  his  fists  and  biting 
his  lips.  The  shabby,  ill-bied,  swag- 
gering man  was  eating  Philip's  salt ; 
Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  hospitality  did 
not  allow  him  to  quarrel  with  the 
guest  under  his  tent. 

"  When  he  went  out  in  medicine, 
we  were  all  of  us  astonished.  Why, 
sir.  Brand  Firmin,  at  one  time,  was 
the  greatest  swell  in  the  Univereity," 
continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "  and  such  a 
plucky  fellow !  So  was  poor  Cinq- 
bars, though  he  had  no  stamina.  He, 
I,  and  Firmin,  fought  for  twenty 
minutes  before  Caius'  Gate  with  about 
twenty  bargemen,  and  j'ou  should 
have  seen  your  father  hit  out !  I  was 
a  handy  one  in  those  days,  too,  with 
ray  fingers.  We  learned  the  noble 
art  of  self-defence  in  my  time,  young 
gentlemen  !  We  used  to  have  Glover, 
the  boxer,  down  from  London,  who 
gave  us  lessons.  Cinqbars  was  a 
pretty  sparrer,  —  but  no  stamina. 
Brandy  killed  him,  sir  —  brandy 
killed  him  !  Why,  this  is  some  of 
your  governor's  wine !  He  and  I 
have  been  drinking  it  to-night  in  Pan- 
Street,  and  talking  over  old  times." 

"  I  am  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine 
to  your  taste,"  says  Philip,  gravely. 

"  I  did,  Philip,  my  boy !  And 
when  your  father  said  he  was  coming 
to  your  wine,  I  said  I  'd  come  too." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  fling  him 
out  of  window,"  groaned  Philip. 

"  A  most  potent,  grave,  and  rever- 
end senior,"  whispered  Ro^ebury  to 
me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne, 
gambling-houses,  in  his  noble  linea- 
ments. Has  he  long  adorned  your 
family  circle,  Firmin  ?  " 

"  I  found  him  at  home  about  a 
month  ago,  in  my  father's  anteroom, 
in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of 
mangy  mustaches  on  his  face ;  and 
he  has  been  at  our  house  every  day 
since." 

"  Echapp€  de  Toulon,"  says  Rose* 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


119 


bury,  blandly  looking  towards  the 
stranger.  "  Celasevoit.  Homme  par- 
Jititement  distingue.  You  are  quite 
right,  sir.  I  was  speaking  of  you ; 
and  asking  our  friend  Fhiiip  where  it  j 
was  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you 
abroad  last  year  ?  This  courtesy," 
he  gently  added,  "  will  disarm 
tigers." 

"  Iwas  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said 
the  other,  nodding  his  head. 

"  Three  to  one  he  was  in  Boulogne 
jail,  or  perhaps  officiating  chaplain 
at  a  gambling-house.  Stop,  I  have 
it !     Baden  Baden,  sir  1 " 

"  I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says 
the  clergyman.  "  It  is  a  very  pretty 
place ;  but  the  air  of  the  Apres  kills 
you.  Ha !  ha !  Your  father  used  to 
shake  his  elbow  when  he  was  a 
youngster  too,  Philip  1  I  can't  help 
calling  you  Philip.  I  have  known 
your  father  these  thirty  years.  We 
wer'e  college  chums,  you  know." 

"  Ah !  what  would  I  give,"  sighs 
Rosebury,  "if  that  venerable  being 
would  but  address  me  by  my  Chris- 
tian name !  Philip,  do  something  to 
make  your  party  go.  The  old  gentle- 
men are  throttling  ifi  Sing  some- 
thing, somebody  !  or  let  us  drown 
our  melancholy  in  wine.  You  ex- 
pressed your  approbation  of  this 
claret,  sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  ac- 
quaintance with  it  ■? " 

"  I  've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the 
last  month,"  says  Mr.  Hunt  with  a 
grin. 

"  Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks 
Mr.  Brice,  putting  a  fresh  bottle  on 
the  table. 

"  Well  said,  Brice !  I  make  the 
Firmin  Arms  my  head-quarters  ;  and 
honor  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal 
of  my  company,"  remarks  Mr.  Hunt. 

"  The  Firmin  Arms  is  honored  by 
having  such  supporters  !  "  says  Phil, 
glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest. 
At  each  moment  he  was  growing 
more  and  more  angry  with  that  par- 
son. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality 
Phil  was  fond  of  talking  of  his  pedi- 
gree ;  and,  though  a  professor  of  very 


liberal  opinions,  was  not  a  little  proud 
of  some  of  his  ancestors. 

"  O,  come,  I  say  !  Sink  the  her- 
aldry !  "  cries  Lord  Egham. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !  I  would  do 
anything  to  oblige  you,  but  I  can't 
help  being  a  gentleman  ! "  growls 
Philip. 

"  O,  I  say  !  if  you  intend  to  come 
King  Kichard  III.  over  us  —  "  breaks 
out  my  Loi'd. 

"  Egham  !  your  ancestors  were 
sweeping  counters  when  mine  stood 
by  King  Richard  in  that  righteous 
fight !  "  shouts  Philip. 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands 
upon  the  Ringwood  family.  Richard 
III.  was  Philip's  battle-horse;  when 
he  trotted  it  after  dinner  he  was 
splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

"  0,  I  say !  If  you  arc  to  saddle 
White  Surrey,  fight  Bosworth  Field, 
and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower  !  " 
continues  Lord  Egham. 

"  Serve  the  little  brutes  right !  " 
roars  Phil.  "  They  were  no  more 
heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England 
than  —  " 

"  I  dare  say !  Only  I  'd  rather 
have  a  song  now  the  old  boy  is  gone. 
I  say,  you  fellows,  chant  something, 
do  now  !  Bar  all  this  row  iibout 
Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the 
Third !  Always  does  it  when  he  's 
beer  on  board,  —  always  does  it,  give 
you  my  honor  !  "  whispers  the  young 
nobleman  to  his  neighbor. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  I  am  a  fool !  "  cries 
Phil,  smacking  his  forehead.  "  '1  here 
are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  my 
race  will  intervene.  It  's  not  your 
fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'im,  that 
you  allude  to  my  arms  in  a  derisive 
manner.  I  bear  you  no  malice  !  Nay, 
I  ask  your  pardon  !  Nay  !  I  pledge 
you  in  this  claret,  which  is  good, 
though  it  's  my  governor's.  In  our 
house  everything  is  n't,  hum  —  Bosh ! 
it 's  twenty-five  claret,  sir  !  Egham's 
father  gave  him  a  pipe  of  it  for  saving 
a  life  which  might  be  better  spent; 
and  I  beheve  the  apothecary  would 
have  pulled  you  through,  Egham, 
just  as  well  as  my  governor.     But 


120 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  wine  's  good  !  Good !  Brice, 
some  more  claret!  A  song!  Who 
spoke  of  a  song  ?  Warble  us  some- 
thing, Tom  Dale  !  A  song,  a  song, 
a  song  !  " 

Whereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of 
"  Moonlight  on  the  Tiles  "  was  given 
by  Tom  Dale  with  all  his  accustomed 
humor.  Then  politeness  demanded 
that  our  host  should  sing  one  of  his 
songs,  and  as  I  have  heard  him  per- 
form it  many  times,  I  have  the  privi- 
lege of  here  reprinting  it :  premising 
that  tlie  tune  and  chorus  were  taken 
from  a  German  song-book,  which 
used  10  delight  us  melodious  youth  in 
bygone  days.  Philip  accordingly 
lifted  up  his  great  voice  and  sang  :  — 

DOCTOR  LUTHER. 

,    "  For  the  soaU'  ediflcatioa 
Of  this  decent  coatcregaCioa, 
Worthy  people  !  by  your  graat, 
1  will  siag  a  holy  chaat, 

I  vrill  sing  a  holy  chant. 
If  the  ditty  sound  hue  ixldly, 
'T  was  a  father  wise  and  godly, 
Sang  it  so  long  ago. 

Then  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

"  He  by  custom  patriarchal. 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle. 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved. 
Tasted  by  the  wife  he  loved. 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends  !  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us. 
To  combine  love,  song,  wine  ; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

"  Who  refuses  this  our  credo, 
And  demurs  to  driuk  as  we  do, 
Were  he  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I  M  pronounce  him  heterodox. 

I  'd  pronounce  him  heterodox 
And  from  out  this  congregation. 
With  a  solemn  commination, 
Banish  quick  the  heretic. 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song. 

He  Is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long." 

The  reader's  humble  servant  was 
older  than  most  of  the  party  assem- 


bled at  this  symposium,  which  may 
have  taken  place  some  score  oi'  years 
back  ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the  noise, 
the  fresh  laughter,  the  songs  remem- 
bered out  of  old  university  days,  the 
talk  and  cant  phrases  of  the  old 
school  of  which  most  of  us  had  been 
disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt  quite  young 
again,  and  when  certain  knocks  came 
to  the  door  about  midnight,  enjoyed 
quite  a  refreshing  pang  of  anxious 
interest  for  a  moment,  deeming  the 
proctors  were  rapping,  having  heard 
our  shouts  in  the  court  below.  The 
late  comer,  however,  was  only  a 
tavern  waiter,  bearing  a  supper-tray  ; 
and  we  were  free  to  speechify,  shout, 
quarrel,  and  be  as  young  as  we  liked, 
with  nobody  to  find  fault,  except, 
perchance,  the  bencher  below,  who,  I 
dare  say,  was  kept  awake  with  our 
noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor 
Talbot  Twysden,  who  had  come  so 
far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to 
partake  of  it.  Lord  Egham's  cigar 
had  proved  too  much  for  him :  and 
the  wortliy  gentleman  had  been  lying 
on  a  sofa,  in  a  neighboring  room,  for 
some  time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless 
collapse.  He  had  told  us,  whilst  yet 
capable  of  speech,  what  a  love  and 
regard  he  had  for  Philip ;  but  be- 
tween him  and  Philip's  father  there 
was  but  little  love.  They  had  had 
that  worst  and  most  irremediable  of 
quarrels,  a  difference  about  twopence- 
halfpenny  in  the  division  of  the  prop- 
erty of  their  late  father-in-law.  Firmin 
still  thought  Twysden  a  shabby  cur- 
mudgeon ;  and  Twysden  considered 
Firmin  an  unprincipled  man.  When 
Mrs.  Firmin  was  alive,  the  two  poor 
sisters  had  had  to  regulate  their  affec- 
tions by  the  marital  orders,  and  to  be 
warm,  cool,  moderate,  freezing,  ac- 
cording to  their  husbands'  state  for 
the  time  being.  I  wonder  are  there 
many  real  reconciliations?  Dear 
Tomkins  and  I  are  reconciled,  I  know. 
We  have  met  and  dined  at  Jones's. 
And  ah  !  how  fond  we  are  of  each 
other  !  0,  very !  So  with  Firmin 
and  Twysden.    They  met,  and  shook 


THE  ADVENTUEKS   OF   rillLIP. 


121 


hands  with  perfect  animosity.  So 
did  Tvysdcn  junior  and  Firmin 
junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the 
elder,  and  thrashed  and  bullied  riiil 
as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and 
pitched  his  cousin  down  stairs.  Men- 
tally, they  were  always  kicking  each 
other  down  stairs.  AVell,  poor  Talbot 
could  not  partake  of  the  supper  when 
it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous  state  on 
the  neighboring  sofa  of  the  absent 
Mr.  Vanjohn. 

Who  would  go  home  with  him, 
where  his  wife  must  be  anxious  about 
him  1  1  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and 
the  parson  said  he  was  going  our 
way,  aud  would  accompany  us.  We 
supported  this  senior  through  the 
Temple,  and  put  him  on  the  front 
seat  of  a  cab.  The  cigar  had  dis- 
gracefully overcome  him ;  and  any 
lecturer  on  the  evils  of  smoking 
might  have  pointed  his  moral  on  the 
helpless  person  of  this  wretched  gen- 
tleman. 

The  evening's  feasting  had  only 
imparted  animation  to  Mr.  Hunt,  and 
occasioned  an  agreeable  abandon  in 
his  talk.  I  had  seen  the  man  before 
in  Dr.  Firmin's  house,  and  own  that 
his  society  was  almost  as  odious  to 
me  as  to  the  Doctor's  son  Philip.  On 
all  subjects  and  persons,  Phil  was  ac- 
customed to  speak  his  mind  out  a 
great  deal  too  openly  ;  and  Mr.  Hunt 
had  been  an  object  of  special  dislike 
to  him  ever  since  he  had  known 
Hunt.  I  tried  to  make  the  best  of 
the  matter.  Few  men  of  kindly 
feeling  and  good  station  are  without 
a  dependant  or  two.  Men  start  to- 
gether in  the  race  of  life  ;  and  Jack 
wins,  and  Tom  falls  by  his  side.  The 
successful  man  succors  and  reaches 
a  friendly  hand  to  the  unfortunate 
competitor.  Remembrance  of  early 
times  gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right 
to  call  on  his  luckier  comrade  ;  and  a 
man  finds  himself  pitying,  then  endur- 
ing, then  embracing  a  companion  for 
whom,  in  old  days,  perhaps,  he  never 
had  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A  pros- 
perous man  ought  to  have  followers : 
jf  he  has  none  he  has  a  hard  heart. 
6 


This  jjhilosophizing  was  all  very 
well.  It  was  ;iO()d  ibr  a  man  not  to 
desert  the  friends  of  his  boyhood. 
But  to  live  with  sucli  a  ( ad  as  that,  — 
with  that  creature,  low,  servile,  swag- 
gering, besotted.  —  "  How  could  his 
father,  who  had  tine  tastes,  and  loved 
grand  coni].any,  put  up  with  such  a 
fellow  ?  "  asked'  I'liil.  "  I  don't  know 
when  the  man  is  the  more  odious  : 
when  he  is  familiar,  or  when  he  is  re- 
spectful ;  when  he  is  paying  coni]>li- 
ments  to  my  father's  guests  in  I'arr 
Street,  or  telling  hideous  old  stale 
stories,  as  he  did  at  my  call-su|  jier." 

The  Mine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely 
partook  on  that  occasion  made  him, 
as  I  have  said,  communicative.  "  Not 
a  bad  fellow,  our  host,"  he  remarked, 
on  his  part,  when  we  came  away  to- 
gether. "  Bumj)tious,  good-looking, 
speaks  his  mind,  hates  me,  and  I 
don't  care  He  must  be  well  to  do 
in  the  world,  Master  Philip." 

I  said  I  h.opcd  and  thought  so. 

"  Brunimcll  Firmin  must  make 
four  or  five  thoiisand  a  year.  He 
was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can 
tell  you, — in  the  days  of  the  wild 
Prince  and  Poyns,  —  stuck  at  noth- 
ing, s{)ent  his  own  money,  ruined 
himself,  fell  on  his  legs  somehoM',  and 
married  a  fortune.  Some  of  us  have 
not  been  so  lucky.  I  had  nobody  to 
pay  my  debts.  I  missed  my  fellow- 
ship by  idling  and  dissipating  with 
those  confounded  hats  and  silver-laced 
gowns.  I  liked  good  company  in 
those  days,  —  always  did  when  I 
could  get  it.  If  you  were  to  write 
my  adventures,  now,  you  woidd  have 
to  tell  some  queer  stories.  I  've  been 
everywhere  ;  I  've  seen  high  nnd  low, 
—  'specially  low.  I  've  tried  school- 
mastering,  bear-leading,  ncwspaper- 
ing,  America,  West  Indies.  I  've 
been  in  every  city  in  Europe.  I  have 
n't  been  as  lucky  as  Brunimcll  Fii'- 
min.  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does, 
and  I  walk  in  my  high-lows.  Guineas 
drop  into  his  palm  every  day,  and  are 
uncommonly  scarce  in  mine,  I  can 
tell  you ;  and  poor  old  Tufton  Hunt 
iM  not  much  better  off  at  fifty  odd 


122 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


than  he  was  when  he  was  an  nnder- 
graduate  at  .eiijhteen.  How  do  you 
do,  old  Liontle-nan  ?  Air  do  you 
goo<l  ?  Here  wo  are  at  Bcauiiash 
Strec-t ;  hojw  yo;i  've  frot  the  key,  and 
missis  won't  see  you."  A  larffc  but- 
ler, too  we  1  bred  to  express  a  t')nish- 
ment  at  any  event  which  occurred  out 
of  doors,  opened  Mr.  Twysden's,  and 
let  in  that  himentable  gentleman. 
He  was  very  pale  and  solemn.  He 
gasped  out  a  few  words,  intimating 
his  intention  to  fix  a  day  to  ask  us  to 
come  and  dine  soon,  and  taste  that 
wine  that  Winton  liked  so.  He 
waved  an  unsteady  hand  to  us.  If 
Mrs.  Twysden  was  on  the  stairs  to 
see  the  condition  of  her  lord,  I  hope 
she  took  possession  of  the  candle. 
Hunt  grumbled  as  we  came  out  : 
"  He  might  have  offered  us  some  re- 
freshment after  bringing  him  all  that 
way  home.  It 's  only  half  past  one. 
There  's  no  good  in  going  to  bed  so 
soon  as  that.  Let  us  go  and  have  a 
drink  somewhere.  I  know  a  very 
good  crib  close  by.  No,  you  won't  ? 
i  say"  (here  he  burst  into  a  laugh 
which  startled  the  sleeping  street), 
"  I  know  what  you  've  been  thinking 
all  the  time  in  the  cab.  You  are  a 
swell,  —  you  are,  too  !  You  have 
been  thinking  '  This  dreary  old  par- 
son will  try  and  borrow  money  from 
me.'  But  I  won't,  my  boy.  I  've 
got  a  banker.  Look  here !  Fee,  faw, 
fum.  You  understand.  I  can  get 
the  sovereigns  out  of  my  medical 
swell  in  Old  Parr  Street.  I  prescribe 
bleeding  for  him,  —  I  drew  him  to- 
night. He  is  a  very  kind  fellow, 
Brummell  Firmin  is.  He  can't  deny 
such  a  dear  old  friend  anything. 
Bless  him  ! "  And  as  he  turned 
away  to  some  midnight  haunt  of  his 
own,  he  tossed  up  his  hand  in  the  air. 
I  heard  him  laughing  through  the 
silent  street,  and  Policeman  X,  tramp- 
ing on  his  beat,  turned  round  and 
•uspiciously  eyed  him. 

Then  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin's 
dark  melancholy  face  and  eyes.  Was 
a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old 
times  the  bond  of  union  between  these 


men  ?  All  my  house  had  long  been 
asleep,  when  I  opened  and  <rently 
closed  my  house-door.  By  the  twink- 
ling night-lamp  1  could  dimly  see 
child  and  moth  r  softly  breathing. 
O,  blc>sed  th-y  on  whose  pillow  no 
rciuorse  sits  !  Happy  you  wiio  have 
escaped  temptiition  ! 

I  may  have  been  encouraged  in  my 
suspicions  of  the  dingy  clergyman  by 
Philip's  own  surmises  regarding  him, 
which  were  expressed  with  the  speak- 
er's usual  candor.  "  The  fellow  calls 
for  what  he  likes  at  the  '  Firmin 
Arms,'  "  said  poor  Phil ;  "  and  when 
my  father's  big-wigs  assemble,  I  hope 
the  reverend  gentleman  dines  with 
them.  I  should  like  to  see  him  hob- 
nobbing with  old  Bumpsher,  or  slap- 
{)ing  the  bishop  on  the  back.  He 
ives  in  Sligo  Street,  round  the  cor- 
ner, so  as  to  be  close  to  our  house 
and  yet  preserve  his  own  elegant  in- 
dependence. Otherwise,  I  wonder  he 
has  not  installed  himself  in  Old  Parr 
Street,  where  my  poor  mother's  bed- 
room is  vacant.  The  Doctor  does 
not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remem- 
ber now  how  silent'they  were  when 
together,  and  how  terrified  she  always 
seemed  before  him.  What  has  he 
done  t  I  know  of  one  affair  in  his 
early  life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of 
any  more  ?  They  have  been  accom- 
plices in  some  conspiracy,  sir;  I  dare 
say  with  that  young  Cinqbars,  of 
whom  Hunt  is  forever  bragging  :  the 
worthy  son  of  the  worthy  Kingwood. 
I  say,  does  wickedness  run  in  the 
blood  ?  My  grandfathers,  I  have 
heard,  were  honest  men.  Perhaps 
they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and 
the  family  taint  will  show  in  me  some 
day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  the 
devil  so  strong  within  me,  that  I 
think  some  day  he  must  have  the 
mastery.  I  'm  not  quite  bad  yet : 
but  I  tremble  lest  I  should  go.  Sup- 
pose I  were  to  drown,  and  go  down  ? 
It  's  not  a  jolly  thing,  Pendennis,  to 
have  such  a  father  as  mine.  Don't 
humbug  me  with  your  charitable  pal- 
liations and  soothing  surmises.    You 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


123 


put  me  in  mind  of  the  world  then,  by 
Jove,  you  do  !  I  laugh,  and  I  drink, 
and  I  make  merry,  and  sing,  and 
smoke  endless  tobacco ;  and  I  tell 
you,  I  always  feel  as  if  a  little  sword 
was  dangling  over  my  skull  which 
will  fall  some  day  and  split  it.  Old 
Parr  Street  is  mined,  sir, — mined! 
And  some  morning  we  shall  be  blown 
into  blazes,  —  into  blazes,  sir ;  mark 
my  words  !  That  's  why  I  'm  so 
careless  and  so  idle,  for  which  you 
fellows  are  always  bothering  and 
scolding  me.  There  's  no  use  in  set- 
tling down  until  the  explosion  is  over, 
don't  you  see  ?  Incedo  per  ignea  sup- 
positos,  and,  by  George !  sir,  1  feel  my 
boot-soles  already  scorching.  Poor 
^hing  !    poor  mother "    (he   apostro- 

Ehized  his  mother's  picture  which 
ung  in  the  room  where  we  were 
talking),  "were  you  aware  of  the  se- 
cret, and  was  it  the  knowledge  of  that 
which  made  your  poor  eyes  always 
look  so  frightened  ?  She  was  always 
fond  of  you,  Pen.  Do  you  remember 
how  pretty  and  graceful  she  used  to 
look  as  she  lay  on  her  sofa  up  stairs, 
or  smiled  out  of  her  carriage  as  she 
kissed  her  hand  to  us  boys  ?  I  say, 
what  if  a  woman  marries,  and  is 
coaxed  and  wheedled  by  a  soft  tongue, 
and  runs  off,  and  afterwards  finds  her 
husband  has  a  cloven  foot  ?  " 

"Ah,  Philip!" 

"  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son 
of  such  a  man  ?  Is  my  hoof  cloven, 
too  ?  "  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he 
talked,  extended  in  American  fashion. 
"  Suppose  there  's  no  escape  for  me, 
and  I  inherit  my  doom,  as  aiiotlier 
man  does  gout  or  consumption  ? 
Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use, 
then,  of  doing  anything  in  particular"? 
I  tell  you,  sir,  the  whole  edifice  of  our 
present  life  will  crumble  in  and 
smash."  (Here  he  flings  his  pipe  to 
the  ground  with  an  awful  shatter.) 
"And  until  the  catastrophe  comes, 
what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to 
work,  as  you  call  itl  You  might  as 
well  have  told  a  fellow,  at  Pompeii,  to 
select  a  profession  the  day  before  the 
eruption." 


"  If  you  know  that  Vesuvius  is  go- 
ing to  burst  over  Pompeii,"  I  said, 
somewhat  alarmed,  "  why  not  go  to 
Naples,  or  farther  if  you  will  i  " 

"  Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry- 
boxes  at  the  city  gates,"  asked  Philip, 
"  who  miiiht  have  run,  and  yet  re- 
mained to  be  burned  there  ?  Suppose, 
after  all, the  doom  is  n't  hanging  over 
us,  —  and  the  fear  of  it  is  only  a  ner- 
vous terror  of  mine  ?  Suppose  it 
comes,  and  I  survive  it  ?  The  risk 
of  the  game  gives  a  zest  to  it,  old  boy. 
Besides,  there  is  Honor :  and  some 
One  Else  is  in  the  case,  from  whom 
a  man  could  not  part  in  an  hour  of 
danger."  And  here  he  blushed  a  fine 
red,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  emptied 
a  bumper  of  claret. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WILL  BE  PROXOUXCED  TO  BE  CYN- 
ICAL BY  THE  BENEVOLENT. 

Gentle  readers  will  not,  I  trust, 
think  the  worse  of  their  most  obedient 
humble  sei'vant  for  the  confession  that  I 
talked  to  my  wife  on  my  return  home 
regarding  Philip  and  his  atfairs.  When 
I  choose  to  be  frank,  I  hope  no  m:in 
can  be  more  open  than  myself:  wiicn 
I  have  a  mind  to  be  quiet,  no  fish  can 
be  more  mute.  I  have  kept  secrets  so 
ineffably,  that  I  have  utterly  forgotten 
them,  until  my  memory  was  refreshed 
.by  people  who  also  knew  tliem.  But 
what  was  the  use  of  hiding  this  one 
from  the  being  to  whom  I  open  all,  or 
almost  all,  —  say  all,  cxcejiting  Just 
one  or  two  of  the  closets  of  tiiis  heait '. 
So  I  say  to  her,  "  My  love  ;  it  is  as  I 
suspected.  Philip  and  his  cousin 
Agnes  are  carrying  on  together." 

"  Is  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  very 
pale  one  1 "  asks  the  joy  of  my  exist- 
ence. 

"  No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They 
are  both  older  than  Mr.  Firmin  :  but 
Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  saying  anything 
malicious,  or  contrary  to  the  fact,  am 
I,  sir?" 


124 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


No.  Only  I  know  by  her  looks, 
when  another  lady's  name  is  men- 
tioned, whether  my  wife  likes  her  or 
not.  And  I  am  bound  to  say,  though 
this  statement  may  meet  with  a  de- 
nial, that  her  countenance  does  not 
vouchsafe  smiles  at  the  mention  of  all 
ladies'  names. 

"  You  don't  go  to  the  house  1  You 
and  Mrs.  Twysden  have  called  on 
each  other,  and  there  the  matter  has 
stopped?  O,  I  know!  It  is  be- 
cause poor  Talbot  brags  so  about  his 
wine,  and  gives  such  abominable 
stuff,  that  you  have  such  an  unchris- 
tian feeling  for  him  !  " 

"  That  is  the  reason,  I  dare  say," 
says  the  lady. 

"  No.  It  is  no  such  thing.  Though 
you  do  know  sherry  from  port,  I  be- 
lieve upon  my  conscience  you  do  not 
avoid  the  Twysdens  because  they  give 
bad  wine.  Many  others  sin  in  that 
way,  and  you  forgive  them.  You 
like  your  feUow-creatures  better  than 
wine,  —  some  fellow-creatures,  —  and 
you  dislike  some  fellow  -  creatures 
worse  than  medicine.  You  swallow 
them,  madam.  You  say  nothing,  but 
your  looks  are  dreadful.  You  make 
wry  faces :  and  when  you  have  taken 
them,  you  want  a  piece  of  sweet- 
meat to  take  the  taste  out  of  your 
mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittily  addressed, 
shrugs  her  lovely  slioulders.  My  wife 
exasperates  nie  in  many  things ;  in 
getting  up  at  insane  hours  to  go  to 
early  church,  for  instance  ;  in  looking 
at  me  in  a  particular  way  at  dinner, 
when  I  am  about  to  eat  one  of  tliose 
entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough  de- 
clares disagree  with  me ;  in  nothing 
more  than  in  that  obstinate  silence, 
which  she  persists  in  maintaining 
sometimes  when  I  am  abusing  people, 
whom  I  do  not  like,  whom  she  does 
not  like,  and  who  abuse  me.  This 
reticence  makes  me  wild.  What  con- 
fidence can  there  be  between  a  man 
and  his  wife,  if  he  can't  say  to  her, 
"  Confound  So-and-so,  I  hate  him  "  ; 
or,  "  What  a  prig  What-d'ye-call-'ira 
is  !  "  or,  "  What  a  bloated  aristocrat 


Thingamy  has  become,  since  he  got 
his  place  !  "  or  what  you  will  ? 

"  No,"  I  continue,  "  I  know  why 
you  hate  the  Twysdens,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis.  You  hate  them  because  they 
move  in  a  world  which  you  can  only 
occasionally  visit.  You  envy  them 
because  they  are  hand-in-glove  with 
the  great ;  because  they  possess  an 
easy  grace,  and  a  frank  and  noble 
elegance  with  which  common  country- 
people  and  apothecaries'  sons  are  not 
endowed." 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you 
are  ashamed  of  being  an  apothecary's 
son  ;  you  talk  about  it  so  often,"  says 
the  lady.  Which  was  all  very  well : 
but  you  see  she  was  not  answering  my 
remarks  about  the  Twysdens. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say 
then.  "  I  ought  not  to  be  censorious, 
being  myself  no  more  virtuous  than 
my  neighbor." 

"  I  know  people  abuse  you,  Ar- 
thur; but  I  think  you  are  a  very 
good  sort  of  a  man,"  says  the  lady, 
over  her  little  tea-tray. 

"  And  so  are  the  Twysdens  very 
good  people,  —  very  nice,  artless,  un- 
selfish,   simple,   generous,  well  -  bred 
people.     Mr.  Twysden  is  all  heart : 
!  Twysden's  conversational  powers  are 
\  remarkable  and  pleasing  :  and  Philip 
I  is  eminently  fortunate  in  getting  one 
of  those  charming  girls  for  a  wife." 
I      "  1  've    no   patience    with   them," 
!  cries  my  wife,  losing  that  quality  to 
■  my  great    satisfaction :    for    then    I 
knew  I  had  found  the  crack  in  Mad- 
am Pendennis's  armor  of  steel,  and 
had    smitten     her    in    a    vulnerable 
little  place. 

"  No  patience  with  them  ?  Quiet, 
ladylike  young  women  !  "  I  cry. 

"Ah,"  sighs  my  wife,  "  what  ha%'e 
thev  got  to  give  Philip  in  return 
for"--" 

"  In  return  for  his  thirty  thousand? 
They  will  have  ten  thousand  pounds 
apiece  when  their  mother  dies." 

"  Oh !  I  would  n't  have  our  boy 
marry  a  woman  like  one  of  those, 
not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  would  n't, 
my  child  and  my  blessing  !  "     (This 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


125 


IS  addressed  to  a  little  darling  who 
happens  to  be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in 
a  high  chair,  oft'  the  little  table  by 
his  mother's  side,  and  who,  though 
he  certainly  used  to  cry  a  good  deal 
at  the  period,  shall  be  a  mute  per- 
sonage in  this  history.) 

"  You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's 
little  affair  with  —  " 

"  No,  I  am  not,  sir  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  which  one  I 
meant,  then  '{ —  Or  that  notorious 
disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord 
ITarintosh  became  a  widower?  If 
he  would  n't,  she  could  n't,  you  know, 
my  dear.  And  I  am  sure  she  tried 
her  best :  at  least,  everybody  said 
so." 

"  Ah !  I  have  no  patience  with  the 
way  in  which  you  people  of  the  world 
treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects,  — 
the  most  sacred,  sir.  Do  you  hear 
me  ?  Is  a  woman's  love  to  be  pledged, 
and  withdrawn  every  "day?  Is  her 
faith  and  purity  only  to  be  a  matter 
of  barter,  and  rank,  and  social  con- 
sideration ?  I  am  sorry,  because  I 
don't  wish  to  see  Philip,  who  is 
good,  and  honest,  and  generous,  and 
true  as  yet,  —  however  great  his 
faults  may  be,  because  I  don't  wish 
to  see  him  given  up  to  —  Oh !  it  's 
shocking,  shocking ! " 

Given  up  to  what?  to  anything 
dreadful  in  this  world,  or  the  next  ? 
Don't  imagine  that  Philip's  relations 
thought  they  were  doing  Phil  any 
harm  by  condescending  to  marry 
him,  or  themselves  any  injury.  A 
doctor's  son,  indeed  !  Why,  the 
Twysdens  were  far  better  placed  in 
the  world  than  their  kinsmen  of  Old 
Parr  Street;  and  went  to  better 
houses.  The  year's  levee  and  draw- 
ing-room would  have  been  incomplete 
without  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden. 
There  might  be  families  with  higher 
titles,  more  wealth,  higher  positions ; 
but  the  world  did  not  contain  more 
respectable  folks  than  the  Twysdens  : 
of  this  every  one  of  the  family  was 
convinced,  from  Talbot  himself  down 
to  his  heir.  If  somebody  or  some 
Body  of  savans    would    write    the 


history  of  the  harm  that  has  been 
done  in  the  world  by  people  who  be- 
lieve themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what 
a  queer,  edifying  book  it  would  be, 
and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues  mipht 
look  up !  Who  burns  the  Protes- 
tants ?  —  the  virtuous  Catholics,  to 
be  sure.  Who  roasts  the  Catholics  ? 
the  virtuous  Keformers.  Who  thinks 
I  am  a  dangerous  character,  and 
avoids  nie  at  the  club  ?  —  the  virtuous 
Squaretoes.  Who  scorns  ?  who  per- 
secutes 7  who  does  n't  forgive  ?  —  the 
virtuous  Mrs.  Grundy.  She  remem- 
bers her  neighbor's  peccadilloes  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation  ;  and 
if  she  finds  a  certain  man  fallen  in 
her  path,  gathers  up  her  affrighted 
garments  with  a  shriek,  for  fear  the 
muddy  bleeding  wretch  should  con- 
taminate her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  sur- 
prises in  this  modest  history,  or  con- 
descend to  keep  candid  readers  in 
suspense  about  many  matters  which 
might  possibly  interest  them.  For 
instance,  the  matter  of  love  has  in- 
terested novel-readers  for  hundreds 
of  years  past,  and  doubtless  will  con- 
tinue so  to  interest  them.  Almost 
all  young  people  read  love  books  and 
histories  with  eagerness,  as  oldsters 
read  books  of  medicines,  and  what- 
ever it  is,  —  heart  complaint,  gout, 
liver,  palsy,  —  cry,  "  Exactly  so,  pre- 
cisely my  case !  "  Phil's  first  love- 
affJEur,  to  which  we  are  now  coming, 
was  a  false  start.  I  own  it  at  once. 
And  in  this  commencement  of  his 
career  I  believe  he  was  not  more  or 
less  fortunate  than  many  and  many  a 
man  and  woman  in  this  world.  Sup- 
pose the  course  of  true  love  always 
did  run  smooth,  and  everybody  mar- 
ried his  or  her  first  love.  Ah  !  what 
would  marriage  be  ? 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to 
market  with  a  heart  ready  to  leap 
out  of  his  waistcoat,  forever  thump- 
ing and  throbbing,  and  so  wild  that 
he  can't  have  any  rest  till  he  has  dis- 
posed of  it.  What  wonder  if  he  falls 
upon  a  wily  merchant  in  Vanity 
Fair,  and  barters  his  all  for  a  stal« 


126 


THE  ADVENTURES  OP  PHILIP. 


bauble  not  worth  sixpence?  Phil 
chose  to  fall  in  love  with  his  cousin ; 
and  I  wara  you  that  nothing  will 
come  of  that  passion,  except  the  in- 
fluence which  It  had  upon  the  young 
man's  character.  Though  my  wife 
did  not  love  the  Twysdens,  she  loves 
sentiment,  she  loves  love-affairs, — 
all  women  do.  Poor  Phil  used  to 
bore  me  after  dinner  with  endless 
rodomontades  about  his  passion  and 
his  charmer  ;  but  my  wife  was  never 
tired  of  listening.  "  Yon  are  a  self- 
ish, heartless,  blase  man  of  the  world, 
vou  are,"  he  would  say.  "  Your  own 
immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune 
in  the  matrimonial  lottery  has  ren- 
dered you  hard,  cold,  crass,  mdifFerent. 
You  have  been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to- 
night, whilst  I  was  talking.  I  will 
go  up  and  tell  madam  everything. 
She  has  a  heart."  And  presently, 
engaged  ^vith  my  book  or  my  after- 
dinner  doze,  I  would  hear  Phil 
striding  and  creaking  overhead,  and 
plunging  energetic  pokers  in  the 
drawing-^^oom  fire. 

Thirty  thousand  pounds  to  begin 
with ;  a  third  part  of  that  sum  com- 
ing to  the  lady  from  her  mother ;  all 
the  doctor's  savings  and  property ;  — 
here  certainly  was  enough  in  posses- 
sion and  expectation  to  satisfy  many 
young  couples  ;  and  as  Phil  is  twenty- 
two,  and  Agnes  (must  I  own  it  ?)  twen- 
ty-five, and  as  she  has  consented  to 
listen  to  the  warm  outpourings  of  the 
eloquent  and  passionate  youth,  and 
exchange  for  his  fresh,  new-minted, 
golden  sovereign  heart,  that  used  lit- 
tle threepenny  piece,  her  own,  —  why 
should  they  not  marry  at  once,  and 
BO  let  us  have  an  end  of  them  and 
this  history  ?  They  have  plenty  of 
money  to  pay  the  parson  and  the 
pos'-jhaise  ;  they  may  drive  off  to  the 
country,  and  live  on  their  means,  and 
lead  an  existence  so  humdrum  and 
tolerably  happy  that  Phil  may  grow 
quite  too  fat,  lazy,  and  unfit  for  his 
present  post  of  hero  of  a  novel.  But 
Btay  —  there  are  obstacles  ;  coy,  re- 
luctant, amorous  delays.  After  all, 
Philip  is   a  dear,  brave,   handsome, 


wild,  reckless,  blundering  boy,  tread- 
ing upon  everybody's  dress-skirts, 
smashing  the  little  Dresden  orna- 
ments and  the  pretty  little  decorous 
gimcracks  of  society,  life,  conversa- 
tion ;  —  but  there  is  time  yet.  Are 
you  so  very  sure  about  that  money 
of  his  mother's  ?  and  how  is  it  that 
his  father,  the  Doctor,  has  not  settled 
accounts  with  him  yet  ?  Vest  louche. 
A  family  of  high  position  and  princi- 
ple must  look  to  have  the  money  mat- 
ters in  perfect  order,  before  they  con- 
sign a  darling  accustomed  to  every 
luxury  to  the  guardianship  of  a  con- 
fessedly wild  and  eccentric,  though 
generous  and  amiable  young  man. 
Besides  —  ah  !    besides  —  besides  ! 

".  .  .  .  It 's  horrible,  Arthur ! 
It 's  cruel,  Arthur !  It 's  a  shame  to 
judge  a  woman,  or  Christian  people 
so  !  Oh  !  my  loves  !  my  blessings ! 
would  I  sell  you  ?  "  says  this  young 
mother,  clutching  a  little  belaced, 
befurbclowed  being  to  her  heart,  infan- 
tine, squalling,  with  blue  shoulder- 
ribbons,  a  mottled  little  arm  that  has 
just  been  vaccinated,  and  the  sweetest 
red  shoes.  "  Would  I  sell  you  i  " 
says  mamma.  Little  Arty,  I  say, 
squalls ;  and  little  Nelly  looks  up 
from  her  bricks  with  a  wondering, 
whimpering  expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what 
the  "  besides "  is ;  but  the  fact  is, 
that  young  Woolcomb  of  the  Life 
Guards  Green,  who  has  inherited 
immense  West  India  property,  and, 
we  will  say,  just  a  teaspoonful  of 
that  dark  blood  which  makes  a  man 
naturally  partial  to  blonde  beauties, 
has  cast  his  opal  eyes  very  warmly 
upon  the  golden-haired  Agnes  of  late ; 
has  danced  with  her  not  a  little ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Twysden's  barouche  ap- 
pears by  the  Serpentine,  you  may  not 
unfrequcntly  see  a  pair  of  the  neatest 
little  3^ellow  kid  gloves  just  playing 
with  the  reins,  a  pair  of  the  prettiest 
little  boots  just  touching  the  stirrup, 
a  magnificent  horse  dancing,  and 
tittupping,  and  tossing,  and  ])erform- 
ing  the  most  graceful  caracoles  and 
gambadoes,  and  on  the  magnificent 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


127 


horse  a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing 
red  flower  in  his  bosom,  and  glancing 
ojjal  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion, 
and  hair  so  very  black  and  curly,  that 
I  really  almost  think  in  some  of  the 
Southern  States  of  America  he 
would  be  likely  to  meet  with  rude- 
ness in  a  railway-car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better. 
In  England  Grenville  Wooicomb  is  a 
/nan  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Arrow- 
root Island,  they  say,  belongs  to  him ; 
besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in  Hertford- 
shire ;  ever  so  much  property  in  otlier 
counties,  and  that  fine  house  in 
Berkeley  Square.  He  is  called  the 
Black  Prince  behind  the  scenes  of 
many  theatres :  ladies  nod  at  him 
from  those  broughams  which,  you 
understand,  need  not  be  particular 
rized.  The  idea  of  his  immense 
riches  is  confirmed  by  the  known  fact 
that  he  is  a  stingy  Black  Prince,  and 
most  averse  to  parting  with  his 
money  except  for  his  own  adornment 
or  amusement.  When  he  receives  at 
his  country-house,  his  entertainments 
are,  however,  splendid.  He  has  been 
flattered,  followed,  caressed  all  his 
life,  and  allowed  by  a  fond  mother  to 
have  his  own  way ;  and  as  this  has 
never  led  him  to  learning,  it  must  be 
owned  that  his  literary  acquirements 
are  small,  and  his  writing  defective. 
But  in  the  management  of  his  pecu- 
niary affairs  he  is  very  keen  and  clev- 
er. His  horses  cost  him  less  than 
any  young  man's  in  England  who  is 
so  well  mounted.  No  dealer  has  ever 
been  known  to  get  the  better  of  him ; 
and,  though  he  is  certainly  close 
about  money,  when  his  wishes  have 
very  keenly  prompted  him,  no  sum 
has  been  known  to  stand  in  his  way. 

Witness  the  purchase  of  the . 

But  never  mind  scandal.  Let  by- 
gones be  bygones.  A  young  doctor's 
son,  with  a  thousand  a  year  for  a  for- 
tune, may  be  considered  a  catch  in 
some  circles,  but  not,  vous  concevez,  in 
the  upper  regions  of  society.  And 
dear  woman,  —  dear,  angelic,  highly 
accomplished,  respectable  woman,  — 
does  she  not  know  how  to  pardon 


many   failings   in  our  sex  1     Age  ? 
psha  !     She  will  crown  my  bare  old 
'  poll   with    the  roses   of    her    youth. 
:  Complexion  'i       What     contrast     is 
I  sweeter  and  more  touching  than  Des- 
'  dcmona's  golden    ringlets   on    swart 
Othello's   shoulder  ?     A  past  life  of 
selfishness  and  bad  company  ?     Come 
out  from  among  ihe  swine,  my  prodi- 
gal, and  I  will  purify  thee  ! 

This  is  what  is  called  cynicism, 
you  know.  Then  I  suppose  my  wife 
is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children 
to  her  pure  heart,  and  prays  gracious 
Heaven  to  guard  them  from  selfish- 
ness, from  worldliness,  from  heartles»- 
ness,  from  wicked  greed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAINS     ONE     RIDDLE     WHICH     IS 
SOLVED,  AND  PERHAPS  SOME  MORE. 

Mine  is  a  modest  muse,  and  as  the 
period  of  the  story  arrives  when  a 
description  of  love-making  is  justly 
due,  my  Mnemosyne  turns  away  from 
the  young  couple,  drops  a  little 
curtain  over  the  embrasure  where 
they  are  whispering,  heaves  a  sigh 
from  her  elderly  bosom,  and  lays  a 
finger  on  her  lip.  Ah,  Mnemosyne 
dear !  We  will  not  be  spies  on  the 
young  people.  We  will  not  scold 
them.  We  won't  talk  about  their 
doings  much.  When  we  were  young, 
we  too,  perhaps,  were  taken  in  under 
Love's  tent ;  we  have  eaten  of  his  salt : 
and  partaken  of  his  bitter,  his  deli- 
cious bread.  Now  we  are  padding 
the  hoof  lonely  in  the  wilderness,  we 
will  not  abuse  our  host,  will  we  ?  We 
will  couch  under  the  stars,  and  think 
fondly  of  old  times,  and  to-morrow 
resume  the  staff  and  the  journey. 

And  yet,  if  a  novelist  may  chronicle 
any  passion,  its  flames,  its  raptures, 
its  whispers,  its  assignations,  its  son- 
nets, its  quarrels,  sulks,  reconcilia- 
tions, and  so  on,  the  history  of  such 
a  love  as  this  first  of  Phil's  may  be 
excusable  in  print,  because  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  was  a  real  love  at  all,  only  a 


128 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


little  brief  delusion  of  the  senses,  from 
which  I  give  you  warning  that  our 
hero  will  recover  before  many  chap- 
ters are  over.  What  I  my  brave  boy, 
shall  we  give  your  bean  ?\vay  for 
goo  1  and  all,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
till  death  do  you  part?  What!  my 
Corydon  and  sighing  swain,  shall  we 
irrevocably  bestow  you  upon  Phillis, 
who,  all  the  time  you  are  piping  and 
])aying  cx>urt  to  her,  has  Melibceus  in 
thd  cupboard,  and  ready  to  be  pro- 
duce 1  should  he  prove  to  l)e  a  more 
eligible  shepherd  than  t'other  ?  1  am 
not  such  a  savage  towards  my  readers 
or  hero,  as  to  make  them  undergo  the 
misery  of  such  a  marriage. 

Philip  WIS  vi!ry  little  of  a  club  or 
society  man.  lie  seldom  or  ever  en- 
tered the  "  Megatherium,"  or  whm 
thei-e  stared  and  scowled  round  him 
savagely,  and  laughed  strangely  at  the 
ways  of  the  inhabitants.  He  made 
but  a  clumsy  figure  in  the  world, 
though  in  person  handsome,  active, 
and  proper  enough ;  but  he  would  for- 
ever put  his  great  foot  through  the 
World's  flounced  skirts,  and  she 
would  stare,  and  cry  out  and  hate 
him.  He  was  the  last  man  who  was 
aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation, 
when  hundreds  of  people,  I  dare  say, 
were  simpering  over  it. 

"  Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes 
to  your  house,  and  whom  I  sometimes 
see  in  the  Park,  aunt, — that  little 
man  with  the  very  white  gloves  and 
the  very  tawny  complexion  ? "  asks 
Philip. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Woolcomb,  of  the 
Life  Guards  Green,"  aunt  remembers. 

"  An  officer  is  he  1  "  says  Philip, 
turning  round  to  the  girls.  "  I  should 
have  thouj;ht  he  would  have  done 
tjetter  for  the  turban  and  ciymbals." 
And  he  laughs  and  thinks  he  has 
said  a  very  clever  thing.  O,  those 
good  things  about  people  and  against 
people !  Never,  my  dear  young 
friend,  say  them  to  anybody,  —  not  to 
a  stranger,  for  he  will  go  away  and 
tell ;  not  to  the  mistress  of  your  affec- 
tions, for  \ou  may  quarrel  with  her, 
and  then  she  will  tell ;  not  to  your 


son,  for  the  artless  child  will  return  to 
his  school-fellows  and  say:  "Pabtv 
says  Mr.  Blenkinsop  is  a  muff"."  Mj 
child,  or  what  not,  praise  everybody  .• 
smile  on  everybody :  and  everybody 
will  smile  on  you  in' return,  a  sham 
smile,  and  hold  you  out  a  sham  hand  ; 
and,  in  a  word,  esteem  you  as  you  de. 
serve.  No.  I  think  you  and  I  will 
take  the  ups  and  the  downs,  the  rou;:hs 
and  the  smooths  of  this  daily  exist- 
ence and  conversation.  We  will 
praise  tho^e  whom  we  like,  tliough 
nobody  repeat  our  kind  sayings  ;  and 
say  our  say  about  those  whom  we  dis- 
like, though  we  are  pretty  sure  our 
words  will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers, 
and  increased  and  multiplied,  and  re- 
membered long  after  we  have  forgot- 
ten them.  We  drop  a  little  stone, — 
a  little  stoue  that  is  swallowed  up  and 
disappears,  but  the  whole  pond  is  set 
in  commotion,  and  ripples  in  con- 
tinually widening  circles  long  after 
the  original  little  stone  has  popped 
down  and  is  out  of  sight.  Don't 
your  speech :;s  of  ten  years  ago  — 
maimed,  distorted,  bloated  it  may  be 
out  of  all  recognition  —  come  strange- 
ly back  to  their  author  ^ 

Phil,    five    minutes    after    he   had 

made  the  joke,  so  entirely  forgot  his 

saying  about  the   Black  Prince  and 

the    cymbals,    that,    when    Cnptain 

Woolcomb   scowled  at  him  with  his 

fiercest  eyes,  young  Firmin  thought 

that  this  was  the  natural  expression 

of  the  captain's  swarthy  countenance, 

and  gave  himself  no  further  trouble 

regarding    it.      "  By    George !   sir," 

[  said  Phil  afterwards,  speaking  of  this 

I  officer,  "  I  remarked  that  he  grinned, 

and  chattered  and  showed  his  teeth ; 

and   remembering   it  was  the  nature 

I  of  such  baboons  to  chatter  .and  grin, 

I  had   no   idea   that    this   chimpanzee 

i  was  more  angry  with  me   than  with 

I  any  other  gentleman.     You  see.  Pen, 

I   am  a   white -skinned  man;  I  am 

pronounced   even    red-whiskered    by 

'.  the  ill-natured.     It  is  not  the  prettiest 

\  color.     But  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was 

j  to  have  a  mulatto  for  a  rival.     I  am 

;  not  so  rich,  certainly,  but    I    haT6 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


129 


enoagh.  I  can  read  and  spell  correct- 
ly, and  write  with  tolerable  fluency. 
I  could  not,  you  know,  could  I,  reason- 
ably suppose  that  I  need  fear  compe- 
tition, and  that  the  black  horse  would 
beat  the  bay  one  f  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  she  used  to  say  to  me  ?  There 
is  no  kissing  and  telling,  mind  you. 
No,  by  George.  Virtue  and  prudence 
were  forever  on  her  lips !  She 
warbled  little  sermons  to  me ;  hinted 
gently  that  I  should  see  to  safe  invest- 
ments of  my  property,  and  that  no 
man,  not  even  a  father,  should  be  the~ 
sole  and  uncontrolled  guardian  of  it. 
She  asked  me,  sir,  scores  and  scores  of 
little  sweet,  timid,  innocent  questions 
about  the  Doctor's  property,  and  how 
much  did  I  think  ir  was,  and  how  had 
he  laid  it  out "?  What  virtuous  parents 
that  angel  had !  How  they  brought 
her  up,  and  educated  her  dear  blue 
eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She  knows 
the  price  of  housekeeping,  and  the 
value  of  railway  shares  ;  she  invests 
capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and 
tlie  next.  She  may  n't  do  right  al- 
ways, but  wrong  1  O  fie,  never  !  I 
say,  Pen,  an  undeveloped  angel  with 
wings  folded  under  her  dress ;  not 
perhaps  your  mighty,  sno>v-white, 
flashing  pinions  that  spread  out  and 
soar  up  to  the  highest  stars,  but  a  pair 
of  good,  serviceable  drab  dove-colored 
wings,  that  will  support  her  gently 
and  equably  just  over  our  heads,  and 
help  to  drop  her  softly  when  she  con- 
descends upon  us.  When  I  think,  sir, 
that  I  might  have  been  married  to  a 
genteel  angel  and  am  single  still,  — 
oh  !    it  's  despair,  it  's  despair  !  " 

But  Philip's  little  story  of  disap- 
pointed hopes  and  bootless  passion 
must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious 
and  unfair  than  the  gentleman  would 
use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine,  swag- 
gering talk,  prone  to  exaggerate  his 
own  disappointments,  and  call  out, 
roar,  —  I  dare  say  swear,  —  if  his 
own  com  was  trodden  upon,  as  loud- 
ly as  some  men  who  may  have  a  leg 
taken  off. 

This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twys- 
den,  Mrs.  Twysden,  and  all  the  rest 
6* 


of  the  family  :  —  that  if  they,  what 
you  call,  jilted  Philip,  they  did  so 
without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  no- 
tion that  they  were  doing  a  dirty  ac- 
tion. Their  actions  never  were  dirty 
or  mean  ;  they  were  necessary,  I  tell 
you,  and  calmly  proper.  They  ate 
cheese-parings  with  graceful  silence ; 
they  cribbed  from  board-wages  ;  they 
turned  hungry  servants  out  of  doors ; 
they  remitted  no  chance  in  their  own 
favor ;  they  slept  gracefully  under 
scanty  coverlids;  they  lighted  nig- 
gard fires  ;  they  locked  the  caddy 
with  the  closest  lock,  and  sened  the 
teapot  with  the  smallest  and  least  fre- 
quent spoon.  But  you  don't  suppose 
they  thought  they  were  mean,  or  that 
they  did  wrong  '<  Ah  !  it  is  admira- 
ble to  think  of  many,  many,  ever  so 
many  respectable  families  of  your  ac- 
quaintance, and  mine,  my  dear  friend, 
and  how  they  meet  together  and 
humbug  each  other  !  "  My  dear,  I 
have  cribbed  half  an  inch  of  plush  out 
of  James's  small-clothes."  "  My  love, 
I  have  saved  a  halfpenny  out  of 
Mary's  beer.  Is  n't  it  time  to  dress 
for  the  duchess's ;  and  don't  you 
think  John  might  wear  that  livery  of 
Thomas's,  who  only  had  it  a  year, 
and  died  of  the  small-pox  ?  It  's  a 
little  tight  for  him,  to  be  sure,  but," 
&c.  What  is  this  f  I  profess  to  be 
an  impartial  chronicler  of  poor  Phil's 
fortunes,  misfortunes,  friendships,  and 
what-nots,  and  am  getting  almost  as 
angry  with  these  Twysdens  as  Philip 
ever  was  himself 

"  Well,  I  am  not  mortally  angry 
with  poor  Traviata  tramping  the 
pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring 
on  her  poor  painted  smile,  else  my 
indignant  virtue  and  squeamish  mod- 
esty would  never  walk  Piccadilly  or 
get  the  air.  But  Lais,  quite  moral, 
and  very  neatly,  primly,  and  strait- 
ly  laced  ;  —  Phryne,  not  the  least 
dishevelled,  but  with  a  fixature  lor 
her  hair,  and  the  best  stays,  fastened 
by  mamma  ;  —  your  High  Church  or 
Evangelical  Aspasia,  the  model  of 
all  proprieties,  and  owner  of  all  vir- 
gin-purity blooms,  ready  to  sell  her 
I 


X30 


m 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fogy  who  has 
money  and  a  title  ;  —  these  are  the 
Unfortunates,  my  dear  brother  and 
sister  sinners,  whom  I  should  like 
to  see  repentant  and  specially  trounced 
first.  Why,  some  of  these  are  put  into 
reformatories  in  Grosvenor  Square. 
They  wear  a  prison  dress  of  dia- 
monds and  Chantilly  lace.  Their 
parents  cry,  and  thank  Heaven  as 
they  sell  them  ;  and  all  sorts  of 
revered  bishops,  clergy,  relations, 
dowagers,  sign  the  book,  and  ratify 
the  ceremony.  Come  !  let  us  call  a 
midnight  meeting  of  those  who  have 
been  sold  in  marriage,  I  saj',  and 
what  a  respectable,  what  a  genteel, 
what  a  fashionable,  what  a  brilliant, 
what  an  imposing,  what  a  multitudi- 
nous assembly  we  will  have ;  and 
where  's  the  room  in  all  Babylon  big 
enough  to  hold  them  1 

Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  din- 
gy, somewhat  naked,  but  elegant 
drawing-room  in  Beaunash  Street, 
and  witli  a  little  fanciful  opera-glass 
you  may  see  a  pretty  little  group  or 
two  engaged  at  different  periods  of 
the  day.  It  is  after  lunch,  and  before 
Rotten  Row  ride  time  (this  story,  you 
know,  relates  to  a  period  ever  so  re- 
mote, and  long  before  folks  thought 
of  riding  in  the  Park  in  the  forenoon). 
After  lunch,  and  before  Rotten  Row 
time,  saunters  into  the  drawing-room 
a  fair-haired  young  fellow  with  large 
feet  and  chest,  careless  of  gloves,  with 
auburn  whiskers  blowing  over  a  loose 
collar,  and  —  must  I  confess  it  1  —  a 
most  undeniable  odor  of  cigars 
about  his  person.  He  breaks  out  re- 
garding the  debate  of  the  previous 
night,  or  the  pamphlet  of  yesterday, 
or  the  poem  of  the  day  previous,  or 
the  scandal  of  the  week  before,  or  up- 
on the  street-sweeper  at  the  corner,  or 
the  Italian  and  monkey  before  the 
Park,  —  upon  whatever,  in  a  word, 
moves  his  mind  for  the  moment.  If 
Philip  has  had  a  bad  dinner  yester- 
day (and  happens  to  remember  it),  he 
growls,  grumbles,  nay,  I  dare  say, 
uses  the  most  blasphemous  language 
against  the  cook,  against  the  waiters, 


against  the  steward,  against  the  com- 
mittee, against  the  whole  society  of 
the  club  where  he  has  been  dining. 
If  Philip  has  met  an  organ-girl  with 
pretty  eyes  and  a  monkey  in  the 
street,  he  has  grinned  and  wondered 
over  the  monkey  ;  he  has  wagged  his 
head,  and  sung  all  the  organ's  tunes  ; 
he  has  discovered  that  the  little  girl  is 
the  most  ravishing  beauty  eyes  ever 
looked  on,  and  that  her  scoundrelly 
Savoyard  father  is  most  likely  an  Al- 
pine miscreant  who  has  bartered  away 
his  child  to  a  pedler  of  the  beggarly 
cheesy  valleys,  who  has  sold  her  to  a 
friend  qui  fait  la  traite  des  hurdu/urdies, 
and  has  disposed  of  her  in  England. 
If  he  has  to  discourse  on  the  poem, 
pamphlet,  magazine  article,  —  it  is 
written  by  the  greatest  genius,  or  the 
greatest  numskull,  that  the  world 
now  exhibits.  He  write  !  A  man 
who  makes  fire  rhyme  with  Marire  ! 
This  vale  of  tears  and  world  which 
we  inhabit  does  not  contain  such  an 
idiot.  Or  have  you  seen  Dobbins's 
j)oem  1  Agnes,  mark  my  words  for 
It,  there  is  a  genius  in  Dobbins  which 
some  day  will  show  what  I  have  al- 
ways surmised,  what  I  have  always 
imagined  possible,  what  I  have  al- 
ways fell  to  be  more  than  probable, 
what,  by  George  !  I  feel  to  be  perfect- 
ly certain,  and  any  man  is  a  humbug 
who  contradicts  it,  and  a  malignant 
miscreant,  and  the  world  is  full  of  fel- 
lows who  will  never  give  another 
man  credit ;  and  I  swear  that  to  rec^ 
ognize  and  feel  merit  in  poetry,  paint- 
ing, music,  rope-dancing,  anything,  is 
the  greatest  delight  and  joy  of  my 
existence.  I  sav  —  what  was  I  say- 
ing ? 

"  You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you 
love  to  recognize  the  merits  of  all  men 
whom  you  see,"  says  gentle  Agnes, 
"  and  I  l)elieve  you  do." 

"  Yes  !  "  cries  Phil,  tossing  about 
the  fair  locks.  "  I  think  I  do.  Thank 
Heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who 
can  do  many  things  better  than  I  do, 
—  everything  better  than  I  do." 

"  O  Philip  !  "  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  I  don't  hate  'em  for  it." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


131 


"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir. 
You  are  too  brave  !  Can  you  fancy 
Philip  hating  any  one,  mamma  ?  " 

Mamma  is  writing  :  "  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Talbot  Twysden  request  the  honor 
of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Locker's 
company  at  dinner  on  Thursday  the 
so-and-so."  "  Philip  what  ?  "  says 
mamma,  looking  up  from  her  card. 
"  Philip  hating  any  one  !  Philip  eat- 
ing any  one  !  Philip !  we  have  a 
little  dinner  on  the  24th.  We  shall 
ask  your  father  to  dine.  We  must 
not  have  too  many  of  the  family. 
Come  in  afterwards,  please." 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  says  downright  Phil, 
"  I  '11  come,  if  you  and  the  girls  wish. 
You  know  tea  is  not  my  line ;  and  I 
don't  care  about  dinners,  except  in 
my  own  way,  and  with  —  " 

"And  with  your  own  horrid  set, 
sir!" 

"  Well,"  says  Sultan  Philip,  flinging 
himself  out  on  the  sofa,  and  lording 
on  the  ottoman,  "  I  like  mine  ease 
and  mine  inn." 

"  Ah,  Philip !  you  grow  more  self- 
ish every  day.  I  jnean  men  do," 
sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves 
the  room  at  this  juncture.  She  has 
that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the 
dear  girls,  that  she  sometimes  does 
leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and  Phil 
are  together.  She  will  leave  Reuben, 
the  eldest  bom,  with  her  daughters  : 
but  my  poor  dear  little  younger  son 
of  a  Joseph,  if  you  suppose  she  will 
leave  the  room  and  you  alone  in 
it,  —  O  my  dear  Joseph,  you  may 
just  jump  down  the  well  at  once! 
Mamma,  I  say,  has  left  the  room  at 
last,  bowing  with  a  perfect  sweetness 
and  calm  grace  and  gravity ;  and  she 
has  slipped  down  the  stairs,  scarce 
more  noisy  than  the  shadow  that 
slants  over  the  faded  carpet  (oh  !  the 
foded  shadow,  the  faded  sunshine  !) — 
mamma  is  gone,  I  say,  to  the  lower 
regions,  and  with  perfect  good-breed- 
ing is  torturing  the  butler  on  his 
bottle-rack,  —  is  squeezing  the  house- 
keeper in  her  jam-closet,  —  is  watch- 
ing the  three  cold  cutlets  shuddering 


in  the  larder  behind  the  wires,  —  is 
blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid 
until  the  poor  wench  fancies  the 
piece  of  bacon  is  discovered  which  she 
gave  to  the  crossing-sweeper,  —  and 
calmly  penetrating  John  until  he  feels 
sure  his  inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her, 
as  it  throbs  within  his  worsted-laced 
waistcoat,  and  she  knows  about  that 
pawning  of  master's  old  boots  (beastly 
old  high-lows  !)  and  —  and,  in  fact,  all 
the  most  intimate  circumstances  of 
his  existence.  A  WTctched  maid,  who 
has  been  ironing  collars,  or  what  not, 
gives  her  mistress  a  shuddering  cour- 
tesy, and  slinks  away  with  her  laces  ; 
and  meanwhile  our  girl  and  boy  are 
prattling  in  the  drawing-room. 

About  what  ?  About  everything 
on  which  Philip  chooses  to  talk. 
There  is  nobody  to  contradict  him 
but  himself,  and  then  his  pretty  hear- 
er vows  and  declares  he  has  not  been 
so  very  contradictory.  He  spouts  his 
favorite  poems.  "  Delightful !  Do, 
Philip,  read  us  some  Walter  Scott ! 
He  is,  as  you  say,  the  most  fresh,  the 
most  manly,  the  most  kindly  of  poetic 
writers,  —  not  of  the  first  class,  cer- 
tainly. In  fact,  he  has  written  most 
dreadfiil  bosh,  as  you  call  it  so  drolly ; 
and  so  has  Wordsworth,  though  he  is 
one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has 
reached  sometimes  to  the  very  great- 
est height  and  sublimity  of  poetry ; 
but  now  you  put  it,  I  must  confess 
he  is  often  an  old  bore,  and  I  certainly 
should  have  gone  to  sleep  during  the 
'Excursion,'  only  you  read  it  so 
nicely.  You  don't  think  the  new 
composers  as  good  as  the  old  ones, 
and  love  mamma's  old-fashioned  play- 
ing ?  Well,  Philip,  it  is  delightful,  so 
ladylike,  so  feminine  !  "  Or,  perhaps, 
Philip  has  just  come  from  Hyde 
Park,  and  says,  "  As  I  passed  by  Aps- 
ley  House,  I  saw  the  Duke  come  out, 
with  his  old  blue  frock  and  white  trou- 
sers and  clear  face.  I  have  seen  a  pic- 
ture of  him  in  an  old  European  Mag- 
azine, which  I  think  I  like  better 
than  all,  —  gives  me  the  idea  of  one 
of  the  brightest  men  in  the  world. 
The  brave  eyes  gleam  at  you  out  of 


132 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  picture ;  and  there  's  a  smile  on 
tlie  resolute  lips,  which  seems  to  in- 
sure triumph.  Agnes,  Assaye  must 
have  been  glorious  !  " 

"  Glorious,  Philip  !  "  says  Agnes, 
who  had  never  heard  of  Assaye  before 
in  her  life.  Arbela,  perhaps  ;  Salamis, 
Marathon,  Agincourt,  Blenheim,  Bu- 
saco,  —  where  dear  grandpapa  was 
killed,  —  Waterloo,  Armageddon ;  but 
Assaye  1     Que  voulez-vous  t 

"  Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent 
man,  and  how  greatly  he  knew  how 
to  dare  when  occasion  came !  I  should 
like  to  have  died  after  winning  such  a 
game.  He  has  never  done  anything 
so  exciting  since." 

"  A  game  1  I  thought  it  was  a 
battle  just  now,"  murmurs  Agnes  in 
her  mind  ;  but  there  may  be  some 
misunderstanding.  "  Ah,  Philip," 
she  says,  "  I  fear  excitement  is  too 
much  the  life  of  all  young  men  now. 
When  will  you  be  quiet  and  steady, 
sir?" 

"  And  go  to  an  ofBce  every  day, 
like  my  uncle  and  cousin  ;  and  read 
the  newspaper  for  three  hours,  and 
trot  back  and  see  you." 

"  Well,  sir !  that  ought  not  to  be 
such  very  bad  amusement,"  says  one 
of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am ! 
my  foot  is  always  trampling  on 
something  or  somebody  ! "  groans 
PhU. 

"  You  must  come  to  us,  and  we 
will  teach  you  to  dance.  Bruin ! " 
says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him. 
I  think  when  very  much  agitated, 
her  pulse  must  have  gone  up  to  forty. 
Her  blood  must  have  been  a  light 
pink.  The  heart  that  beat  under  that 
pretty  white  chest,  which  she  exposed 
so  liberally,  may  have  throbbed  piet- 
ty  quickly  once  or  twice  with  waltz- 
ing, but  otherwise  never  rose  or  fell 
beyond  its  natural  gentle  undulation. 
Ttmay  have  had  throbs  of  grief  at  a 
uisappoi:itment  occasioned  l)y  the  mil- 
liner not  l)ringing  a  dn-ss  home ;  or 
have  felt  some  little  fluttcrinir  impulse 
of  youthful  passion  when  it  was  in 
short  frocks,  and  Master  Grimsby  at 


the  dancing-school  showed  some  pref- 
erence for  another  young  pupil  out 
of  the  nursery.  But  feelings,  and 
hopes,  and  blushes,  and  passions 
now  ?  Psha !  They  pass  away  like 
nursery  dreams.  Now  there  are  only 
proprieties.  What  is  love,  young 
heart  t  It  is  two  thousand  a  year,  at 
the  very  lowest  computation ;  and, 
with  the  present  rise  in  wages  and 
house-rent,  that  calculation  can't  last 
very  long.  Love  ?  Attachment  ? 
Look  at  Frank  Maythorn,  with  his 
vernal  blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his 
sunshiny,  laughing  face,  and  all  the 
birds  of  spring  carolling  in  his  jolly 
voice  ;  and  old  General  Pin  wood  hob« 
bling  in  on  his  cork  leg,  with  his 
stars  and  orders,  and  leering  round 
the  room  from  under  his  painted  eye- 
brows. Will  my  modest  nymph  go 
to  Maythorn,  or  to  yonder  leering 
Satyr,  who  totters  towards  her  in  his 
white  and  rouge?  Nonsense.  She 
gives  her  garland  to  the  old  man,  to 
be  sure.  He  is  ten  times  as  rich  as 
the  young  one.  And  so  they  went 
on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really.  Not  in 
that  namby-pamby  ballet  and  idyl 
world,  where  they  tripped  up  to  each 
other  in  rhythm,  and  talked  hexame- 
ters ;  but  in  the  real  downright,  no- 
mistake  country,  —  Arcadia,  —  where 
Tityrus,  fluting  to  Amaryllis  in  the 
shade,  had  his  pipe  very  soon  put 
out  when  Melibceus  (the  great  gra- ' 
zier)  performed  on  his  melodious,  ex- 
quisite, irresistible  cowhom  ;  and 
where  Daphne's  mother  dresssed  her 
up  \yith  ribbons  and  drove  her  to 
market,  and  sold  her,  and  swapped 
her,  and  bartered  her  like  any  other 
lamb  in  the  fair.  This  one  has  been 
trotted  to  the  market  so  long  now 
that  she  knows  the  way  herself  Her 
baa  has  been  heard  for  —  do  not  let 
us  count  how  many  seasons.  She 
has  nibbled  out  of  countless  hands ; 
frisked  in  many  thousand  dances ; 
come  quite  harmless  away  from  good- 
ness knows  how  many  wolves.  Ah  l 
ye  lambs  and  raddled  innocents  of 
onr  Arcadia  !  Ah,  old  Eire .'  Is  it 
of  your  Ladyship  this  fable  is  nar 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


133 


rated?     I   say  it  is  as  old    as  Cad- 
mus, and  man  and  mutton  kind. 

So,  when  Philip  comes  to  Beau- 
nash  Street,  Agnes  listens  to  him 
most  kindly,  sweetly,  gently,  and  af- 
fectionately. Her  pulse  goes  up  very 
nearly  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of 
his  horse's  heels  is  heard  in  the  quiet 
street.  It  undergoes  a  corresponding 
depression  when  the  daily  grief  of 
parting  is  encountered  and  overcome. 
Blanche  and  Agnes  don't  love  each 
other  very  passionately.  If  I  ma}' 
say  as  much  regarding  those  two 
lambkins,  they  butt  at  each  other,  — 
they  quarrel  with  each  other,  —  but 
they  have  secret  understandings. 
During  Phil's  visits  the  girls  re- 
main together,  you  understand,  or 
mamma  is  with  the  young  people. 
Female  friends  may  come  in  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Twysden,  and  the  matrons  whis- 
per together,  and  glance  at  the  cous- 
ins, and  look  knowing.  "  Poor  or- 
phan boy  !  "  mamma  says  to  a  sister 
matron.  "  I  am  like  a  mother  to  him 
since  my  dear  sister  died.  His  own 
home  is  so  blank,  and  ours  so  merry, 
so  affectionate  !  There  may  be  inti- 
macy, tender  regard,  the  utmost  con- 
fidence between  cousins,  —  there  may 
be  future  and  even  closer  ties  between 
them, — but  you  understand,  dear  Mrs. 
Matcham,  no  engagement  between 
them.  He  is  eager,  hot-headed,  im- 
petuous, and  imprudent,  as  we  all 
know.  She  has  not  seen  the  world 
enough,  —  is  not  sure  of  herself,  poor 
dear  child  !  Therefore  every  circum- 
spection, every  caution  is  necessary. 
There  must  be  no  engagement,  no 
letters  between  them.  My  darling 
Agnes  does  not  write  to  ask  him  to 
dinner  without  showing  the  note  to 
me  or  her  father.  My  dearest  girls  re- 
spect themselves."  "  Of  course,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Twysden,  they  are  admi- 
rable, both  of  them.  Bless  yon,  dar- 
lings !  Agnes,  you  look  radiant ! 
Ah,  Rosa,  my  child,  I  wish  you  had 
dear  Blanche's  complexion  !  " 

"  And  is  n't  it  monstrous  keeping 
that  poor  boy  hanging  on  until  Mr. 
Woolcomb   lias   made  up   his   mind 


about  coming  forward  1  "  says  dear 
Mrs.  Matcham  to  her  own  daughter, 
as  her  brougham  door  closes  on  the 
pair.  "  Here  he  comes  !  Here  is  his 
cab.  Maria  Twysden  is  one  of  the 
smartest  women  in  England,  —  that 
she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is,  mamma,  that  the 
beau  cousin  and  Captain  Woolcomb 
are  always  calling,  and  never  call  to- 
gether !  "  remarks  the  wge'mce. 

"  They  might  quarrel  if  they  met. 
They  say  young  Mr.  Firmin  is  very 
quarrelsome  and  impetuous  !  "  says 
mamma. 

"  But  how  are  they  kept  apart  f  " 
"  Chance,  my  dear  !  mere  chance !  " 
says  mamma.  And  they  agree  to  say 
it  is  chance,  —  and  they  agree  to  pre- 
tend to  believe  one  another.  And  the 
girl  and  the  mother  know  everything 
about  Wookonib's  property,  every- 
thing about  Philip's  property  and  ex- 
pectations, everything  about  all  the 
young  men  in  London,  and  those 
coming  on.  And  Mrs.  Matcliam's 
girl  fished  for  Captain  Woolcomb  last 
year  in  Scotland,  at  Lock-hookey ; 
and  stalked  him  to  Paris  ;  and  they 
went  down  on  their  knees  to  Lady 
Banbury  when  they  heard  of  the 
theatricals  at  the  Cross  ;  and  pursued 
that  man  about  until  he  is  forced  to 
say,  "  Confound  me  !  hang  me  !  it  's 
too  had  of  that  woman  and  her  daugh- 
ter, it  is  now,  I  give  you  my  honor  it 
is  !  And  all  the  fellows  chatt'  me ! 
And  she  took  a  house  in  Regent's 
Park,  opposite  our  barracks,  and 
asked  for  her  daughter  to  learn  to 
ride  in  our  school,  —  I  'm  blest  if  she 
did  n't,  Mrs.  Twysden  !  and  I  thought 
my  black  mare  would  have  kicked 
her  oflf  one  day,  —  I  mean  the  daugh- 
ter, —  but  siie  stuck  on  like  grim 
death  ;  and  the  fellows  call  them 
Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her  daughter. 
Our  surgeon ,  called  them  so,  and  a 
doosid  rum  fellow, —  and  they  chaff 
me  about  it,  you  know,  —  ever  so 
many  of  the  fellows  do,  —  and  /  'm 
not  going  to  be  had  iti  that  way  by 
Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her  daughter  I 
Ko,  not  as  I  knows,  if  you  please  !" 


134 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  You- are  a  dreadful  man,  and  yon 
gave  her  a  dreadful  name,  Captain 
Woolcomb  !  "  says  mamma. 

"It  was  n't  me.  It  was  the  sur- 
geon, you  know,  Miss  Agnes  :  a 
doosid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon 
is,  —  and  sent  a  thing  once  to  Punch, 
Nixon  did.  I  heard  him  make  the 
riddle  in  Albany  Barracks  and  it 
riled  Foker  so !  You  've  no  idea 
how  it  riled  Foker,  for  he  's  in 
it!" 

"  In  it  ?  "  asks  Agnes,  with  the 
gentle  smile,  the  candid  blue  eyes,  — 
the  same  eyes,  expression,  lips,  that 
smile  and  sparkle  at  Philip. 

"  Here  it  is  !  Capital  !  Took  it 
down.  Wrote  it  into  my  pocket-book 
at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  'All  doc- 
tors like  my  first,  that  's  clear  ! '  Doc- 
tor Firmin  does  that.  Old  Pan- 
Street  party !  Don't  you  see,  Miss 
Agnes  ?    Feb  !    Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Fee  !  O  you  droll  thing ! "  cries 
Agnes,  smiling,  radiant,  very  much 
puzzled. 

"  '  My  second,'  "  goes  on  the  young 
oflScer,  —  "  '  Ml/  second  gives  us  Foker's 
beer  ! ' " 

" '  My  whole  's  the  shortest  month  in 
all  the  year!'  Don't  you  see,  Mrs. 
Twysden  ?  Fee-Brkwery,  don't 
YOU  SEE  1  February  !  A  doosid 
good  one,  is  n't  it,  now  ?  and  I  won- 
der Punch  never  put  it  in.  And  upon 
my  word,  I  used  to  spell  it  Febuary 
before,  I  did  ;  and  I  dare  say  ever  so 
many  fellows  do  still.  And  I  know 
the  right  way  now,  and  all  from  that 
riddle  which  Xlxon  made." 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll 
man,  and  full  of  fun.  He  rattles  on, 
artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of 
sport,  drink,  adventure,  in  which  the 
dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  promi- 
nent figure.  Not  honey-mouthed 
Plato  would  be  listened  to  more  kind- 
ly by  those  three  ladies.  A  bland, 
frank  smile  shines  over  Talbot  Twys- 
den's  noble  face,  as  he  comes  in  from 
his  office,  and  finds  the  creole  prat- 
tling:. "  What  !  yon  here,  Wo.il- 
comb  ?  Hay  !  Glad  to  see  you  !  " 
And  the  £;allant  hand  goes  out  and 


meets  and  grasps  Woolcomb's  tiny 
kid  glove. 

"  He  has  been  so  amusing,  papa! 
He  has  been  making  us  die  with 
laughing !  Tell  papa  that  riddle  you 
made,  Captain  Woolcomb  ?  " 

"  That  riddle  I  made  ?  That  rid- 
dle Nixon,  our  surgeon,  made.  '  All 
doctors  like  my  first,  that 's  clear,' " 
&c. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as 
he  expounds  this  admirable  rebus, 
gather  round  the  young  officer  in  a 
group,  and  the  curtain  drops. 

As  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  there 
are  two  or  three  performances  in  a 
day,  so  in  Beaunash  Street  a  little 
genteel  comedy  is  played  twice  :  — 
at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin,  at 
five  o'clock  with  Mr.  Woolcomb ; 
and  for  both  j'oung  gentlemen,  same 
smiles,  same  eyes,  same  voice,  same 
welcome.    Ah,  bravo !  ah,  encore ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN     WHICH      WE      VISIT      "  ADMIHAI. 
BYNG." 

From  long  residence  in  Bohemia, 
and  fatal  love  of  bachelor  ease  and 
habits,  Master  Philip's  pure  tastes 
were  so  destroyed,  and  his  manners  so 
perverted  that,  you  will  hardly  believe 
it,  he  was  actually  indiffiirent  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  refined  home  we  have 
just  been  describing  ;  and,  when  Ag- 
nes was  away,  sometimes  even  when 
she  was  at  home,  was  quite  relieved  to 
get  out  of  Beaunash  Street.  He  is 
hardly  twenty  yards  from  the  door, 
when  out  of  his  pocket  there  comes  a 
ca.se ;  out  of  the  ca.se  there  jumps  an 
aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering 
fragrance  around  as  he  is  marching 
briskly  northwards  to  his  next  house 
of  call.  The  pace  is  even  more  lively 
now  than  when  he  is  hastening  on 
what  you  call  the  wings  of  love  to 
Beaunash  Street  At  the  house 
whither  he  is  now  going,  he  and  the 
cigar  are  always  welcome.  There  is 
no  need  of  munching  orange  chips, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


135 


or  chewing  scented  pills,  or  flinging 
your  weed   away  half  a  mile  before 

J'ou  reach  Thornhaugh  Street,  —  the 
ow,  vulgar  place.  I  promise  you 
Phil  may  smoke  at  Brandon's,  and 
find  others  doing  the  same.  He  may 
set  the  house  on  fire,  if  so  minded, 
such  a  favorite  is  he  there  ;  and  the 
Little  Sister,  with  her  kind,  beaming 
snjile,  will  be  there  to  bid  him  wel- 
come. How  that  woman  loved  Phil, 
and  how  he  loved  her,  is  quite  a  curi- 
osity; and  both  of  them  used  to  be 
twitted  with  this  attachment  by  their 
mutual  friends,  and  blush  as  they  ac- 
knowledged it  Ever  since  the  little 
nurse  had  saved  his  life  as  a  school- 
boy, it  was  a  la  vie  a  la  mort  between 
them.  Phil's  father's  chariot  used  to 
come  to  Thornhaugh  Street  some- 
times, —  at  rare  times,  —  and  the  Doc- 
tor descend  thence  and  have  colloquies 
with  the  Little  Sister.  She  attended 
a  patient  or  two  of  his.  She  was 
certainly  very  much  better  off  in  her 
money  matters  in  these  late  years, 
since  she  had  known  Dr.  Firmin. 
Do  you  think  she  took  money  from 
him  ?  As  a  novelist,  who  knows 
everything  about  his  people,  I  am 
constrained  to  say,  Yes.  She  took 
enough  to  pay  some  little  bills  of  her 
weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the 
bailiffs  hand  from  his  old  collar. 
But  no  more.  "  I  think  you  owe  him 
as  much  as  that,"  she  said  to  the  Doc- 
tor. But  as  for  compliments  between 
them,  — "  Dr.  Firmin,  I  would  die 
rather  than  be  beholden  to  you  for 
anything,"  she  said,  with  her  little 
limbs  all  in  a  tremor,  and  her  eyes 
flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  you,  sir, 
after  old  days,  be  a  coward  and  pay 
compliments  to  me ;  I  will  tell  your 
son  of  you,  sir ! "  and  the  little  wo- 
man looked  as  if  she  could  have 
stabbed  the  elderly  libertine  there  as 
he  stood.  And  he  shrugged  his  hand- 
some shoulders :  blushed  a  little  too, 
perhaps  :  gave  her  one  of  his  darkling 
looks,  and  departed.  She  had  be- 
lieved him  once.  She  had  married 
him,  as  she  fancied.  He  liad  tired  of 
her ;   forsaken  her  ;    left  her,  —  left 


her  even  without  a  name.  She  had 
not  known  his  for  long  years  after 
her  trust  and  his  deceit.  "  No.  sir,  I 
would  n't  have  your  name  now,  not 
if  it  were  a  lord's,  I  would  n't,  and  a 
coronet  on  your  carriage.  You  are 
beneath  me  now,  Mr.  Brand  Firmin ! " 
she  had  said. 

How  came  she  to  love  the  boy  so  ? 
Years  back,  in  her  own  horrible  ex- 
tremity of  misery,  she  could  remem- 
ber a  week  or  two  of  a  brief,  strange, 
exquisite  happiness,  which  came  to 
her  in  the  midst  of  her  degradation 
and  desertion,  and  for  a  few  days  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  with  eyes  like 
Philip's.  It  was  taken  from  her, 
after  a  few  days  —  only  sixteen  days. 
Insanity  came  upon  her,  as  her  dead 
infant  was  carried  away  :  —  insanity, 
and  fever,  and  struggle  —  ah  !  who 
knows  how  dreadful?  She  never 
does.  There  is  a  gap  in  her  life 
which  she  never  can  recall  quite. 
But  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq., 
M.  D.,  knows  how  very  frequent  are 
such  cases  of  mania,  and  that  women 
who  don't  speak  about  them  often  will 
cherish  them  for  years  after  they  ap- 
pear to  have  passed  away.  The  Lit- 
tle Sister  says,  quite  gravely,  some- 
times, "  They  are  allowed  to  come 
back.  They  do  come  back.  Else 
what 's  the  good  of  little  cherubs  be- 
in'  born,  and  smilin',  and  happy,  and 
beautiful  —  say,  for  sixteen  days,  and 
then  an  end  f  I  've  talked  about  it 
to  many  ladies  in  grief  sim'lar  to 
mine  was,  and  it  comibrts  them.  And 
when  I  saw  that  child  on  his  sick-bed, 
and  he  lifted  his  eyes,  /  knew  him,  I 
tell  you,  Mrs.  Ridley.  I  don't  speak 
about  it;  but  I  knew  him,  ma  am; 
my  angel  came  back  again.  I  know 
him  by  the  eyes.  Look  at  'em.  Did 
you  ever  see  such  eyes  ?  They  look 
as  if  they  had  seen  heaven.  His  fa- 
ther's don't."  Mrs.  Ridley  believes 
this  theory  solemnly,  and  I  think  I 
know  a  lady,  nearly  connected  with 
myself,  who  can't  be  got  quite  to  dis- 
own it.  And  this  secret  opinion  to 
women  in  grief  and  sorrow  over  their 
new-born  lost  infants  Mrs.  Brandon 


186 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


persists  in  imparting.  "  /  know  a 
case,"  the  nurse  murmurs,  "  of  a  poor 
mother  who  lost  her  child  at  sixteen 
days  old ;  and  sixteen  years  after,  on 
the  very  day,  she  saw  him  again." 

Philip  knows  so  far  of  the  Little 
Sister's  story,  that  he  is  the  object  of 
this  delusion,  and,  indeed,  it  very 
strangely  and  tenderly  affects  him. 
He  remembers  fitfully  the  illness 
through  which  the  Little  Sister  tend- 
ed him,  the  wild  paroxysms  of  his 
fever,  his  head  throbbing  on  her 
shoulders,  cool  tamarind  drinks  which 
she  applied  to  his  lips,  great  gusty 
night  sliadows  flickering  through  the 
hiire  school  dormitory,  the  little  figure 
of  the  nurse  gliding  in  and  out  of  the 
dark.  He  must  be  aware  of  the  rec- 
ognition, which  we  know  of,  and 
which  took  place  at  liis  beidside, 
though  he  has  never  mentioned  it,  — 
not  to  his  father,  not  to  Caroline. 
But  he  clings  to  the  woman,  and 
shrinks  from  the  man.  Is  it  instinc- 
tive love  and  antipathy  ?  The  special 
reason  for  his  quarrel  with  his  father 
the  junior  Firmin  has  never  explicitly 
told  me  then  or  since.  I  have  known 
sons  much  more  confidential,  and 
who,  when  their  fathfers  tripped  and 
stumbled,  would  bring  their  acquaint- 
ances to  jeer  at  the  patriarch  in  his 
fall. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  and  the  Sister's  little 
parlor  there,  fancy  his  astonishment 
on  finding  his  father's  dingy  friend, 
the  Rev.  Tufton  Hunt,  at  his  ease  by 
the  fireside.  "  Surprised  to  see  me 
here,  eh? "  says  the  dingy  gentleman, 
with  a  sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  of 
wonder  and  disgust.  "  Mrs.  Bran- 
don and  I  turn  out  to  be  very  old 
friends." 

"  Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says 
the  Little  Sister,  very  gravely. 

"  The  captain  brought  me  home 
from  the  club  at  the  '  Byng.'  Jolly 
fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to 
you,  Mr.  Gann  and  Mrs.  Brandon." 
And  th.'  two  persons  addressed  by 
the  gentleman,  who  is  "  taking  some 
refreshment,"  as  the  phrase  is,  made 


a  bow  in  acknowledgment  of  this  sal- 
utation. 

"  You  should  have  been  at  Mr. 
Philip's  call-supper.  Captain  Gann," 
the  divine  resumes.  "  That  uas  a 
night !  Tip-top  swells  —  noblemen 
—  first-rate  claret.  That  claret  of 
your  father's,  Philip,  is  pretty  near- 
ly drunk  down.  And  your  song 
was  famous.  Did  you  ever  hear  hin 
sing,  Mrs.  Brandon  ?  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  Aim  ?  " 
says  Philip,  who  always  boiled  with 
rage  before  this  man. 

Caroline  divines  the  antipathy. 
She  lays  a  little  hand  on  Philip's 
arm.  "  Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having 
too  much,  I  think,"  she  says.  "  I 
did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago, 
Philip  !  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  Him  ?  " 
again  says  Philip,  snorting  at  Tufton 
Hunt. 

"Him"?  —  Dr.  Luther's.  Hymn! 
'  Wein,  Weber,  und  Gesang,'  to  be 
sure ! "  cries  the  clergyman,  hum- 
ming the  tune.  "  I  learned  it  in 
Germany  myself  —  passed  a  good 
deal  of  time  in  Germany,  Captain 
Gann  —  six  months  in  a  specially 
shady  place  —  Qnod  Strasse,  in 
Frankfort  on-the-Maine  —  being  per- 
secuted by  some  wicked  Jews  there. 
And  there  was  another  poor  English 
chap  in  the  place,  too,  who  used  to 
chirp  that  song  behind  the  bars,  and 
died  there,  and  disappointed  the 
Philistines.  I  've  seen  a  deal  of  life, 
I  have ;  and  met  with  a  precious 
deal  of  misfortune ;  and  borne  it 
pretty  stoutly,  too,  since  your  father 
and  I  were  at  colle<rc  together,  Philip. 
You  don't  do  anything  in  this  way  ? 
Not  so  early,  eh  ?  It  's  good  rum, 
Gann,  and  no  mistake."  And  again 
the  chaplain  drinks  to  the  captain, 
who  waves  the  dingy  hand  of  hospi- 
tality towards  his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had 
now  been  a  resident  in  London,  and 
a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Fir- 
mm's  house.  He  came  and  went  at 
his  will.  He  made  the  place  his 
house  of  call ;  and  in   the  Doctor's 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


137 


trim,  silent,  orderly  mansion,  was 
perfectly  free,  talkative,  dirty,  and 
familiar.  Philip's  loathing  for  the 
man  increased  till  it  reached  a  pitch 
of  frantic  hatred.  Mr.  Phil,  theoret- 
ically a  Radical,  and  almost  a  Kepub- 
lican  (in  opposition,  perhaps,  to  his 
father,  who,  of  course,  held  the  highly 
respectable  line  of  politics),  —  Mr. 
Sansculotte  Phil  was  personally  one 
of  the  most  aristocratic  and  overbear- 
ing of  young  gentlemen ;  and  had  a 
contempt  and  hatred  for  mean  people, 
for  base  people  for  servile  people,  and 
especially  for  too  familiar  people, 
which  was  not  a  little  amusing  some- 
times, which  was  provoking  often, 
but  which  he  never  was  at  the  least 
pains  of  disguising.  His  uncle  and 
cousin  Twysden,  for  example,  he 
treated  not  half  so  civilly  as  their 
footmen.  Little  Talbot  humbled 
himself  before  Phil,  and  felt  not 
always  easy  in  his  company.  Young 
Twysden  hated  him,  and  did  not  dis- 
guise his  sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to 
their  mutual  acquaintance  behind 
Phil's  broad  back.  And  Phil,  for  his 
part,  adopted  towards  his  cousin  a 
kick-me-down-stairs  manner,  which  I 
own  must  have  been  provoking  to 
that  gentleman,  who  was  Phil's  senior 
by  three  years,  a  clerk  in  a  public 
office,  a  member  of  several  good  clubs, 
and  altogether  a  genteel  member  of 
society.  Phil  would  often  forget 
Ringwood  Twysden's  presence,  and 
pursue  his  own  conversation  entirely 
regardless  of  Ringwood's  observations. 
He  was  very  rude,  I  own.  Que 
roulez-vous  ?  We  have  all  of  us  our 
little  failings,  and  one  of  Philip's  was 
an  ignorant  impatience  of  bores,  par- 
asites, and  pretenders. 

So  no  wonder  my  young  gentleman 
was  not  very  fond  of  his  father's 
friend,  the  dingy  jail  chaplain.  I, 
who  am  the  most  tolerant  man  in  the 
world,  as  all  my  friends  Jvnow,  liked 
Hunt  little  better  than  Phil  did.  The 
man's  presence  made  me  uneasy. 
His  dress,  his  complexion,  his  teeth, 
his  leer  at  women  —  Que  suis-je  ?  — 
everything  was  unpleasant  about  this 


Mr.  Hunt,  and  his  gayety  and  famil- 
iarity more  specially  disgusting  than 
even  his  hostility.  The  wonder  was 
that  battle  had  not  taken  place  be- 
tween Philip  and  the  jail  clergyman, 
who,  I  suppose,  was  accustomed  to  be 
disliked,  and  laughed  with  cynical 
good-humor  at  the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern 
parlors  ;  and  one  day,  strolling  out 
of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  he  saw  his 
friend  Dr.  Firmin's  well-known 
equipage  stopping  at  a  door  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  out  of  which  the 
Doctor  presently  came  ;  "  Brandon  " 
was  on  the  door.  Brandon,  Bran- 
don ?  Hunt  remembered  a  dark 
transaction  of  more  than  twenty 
years  ago,  —  of  a  woman  deceived  by 
this  Firmin,  who  then  chose  to  go  by 
the  name  Brandon.  "  He  lives  with 
her  still,  the  old  hypocrite,  or  he  has 
gone  back  to  her,"  thought  the  par- 
son. O  you  old  sinner !  And  the 
next  time  he  called  in  Old  Parr 
Street  on  his  dear  old  college  friend, 
Mr.  Hunt  was  specially  jocular,  and 
frightfully  unpleasant  and  familiar. 

"  Saw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court 
Road  way,"  says  the  slang  parson, 
nodding  to  the  physician. 

"  Have  some  patients  there.  Peo- 
ple 'are  ill  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road,"  remarks  the  Doctor. 

"  Pallida  mors  wquo  pede  —  hay, 
Doctor  ?  What  used  Flaccus  to  say, 
when  we  were  undergrads  1 " 

"  JEquo  pede,"  sighs  the  Doctor, 
casting  up  his  fine  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  I  Sot  a  word  will 
he  say  about  her !  "  thinks  the  clergy- 
man. "  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  And, 
by  Jove !  Gann  was  the  name." 

Gann  was  also  the  name  of  that 
queer  old  man  who  frequented  the 
"  Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was 
so  good,  —  the  old  boy  whom  they 
called  the  Captain.  Yes;  ^t  was 
clear  now.  That  ugly  business  was 
patched  up.  The  astute  Hunt  saw  it 
all.  The  Doctor  still  kept  up  a  con- 
nection with  the  —  the  party.  And 
that  is  her  old  ftither,  sure  enough. 
"The  old  fox,   the  old  fox!    I've 


138 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


earthed  him,  have  I  ?  This  is  a  good 
game.  I  wanted  a  little  something 
to  do,  and  this  will  excite  me,"  thinks 
the  clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could 
have  seen  or  heard,  and  can  guaran- 
tee only  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in 
my  report  of  the  private  conversa- 
tion of  these  worthies.  The  end  of 
scores  and  scores  of  Hunt's  conversa- 
tions with  his  friend  was  the  same,  — 
an  application  for  money.  If  it  rained 
when  Hunt  parted  from  his  college 
chum,  it  was,  "  I  say,  Doctor,  I  shall 
spoil  my  new  hat,  and  I  'm  blest  if  I 
have  any  money  to  take  a  cab.  Thank 
you,  old  boy.  Au  revoir."  If  the 
day  was  fine,  it  was,  "  My  old  blacks 
show  the  white  seams  so,  that  you 
must  out  of  your  charity  rig  me  out 
with  a  new  pair.  Not  your  tailor. 
He  is  too  expensive.  Thank  you,  — 
a  couple  of  sovereigns  will  do."  And 
the  Doctor  takes  two  from  the  mantel- 
piece, and  the  di\ane  retires,  jingling 
the  gold  in  his  greasv  pocket 

The  Doctor  is  going  after  the  few 
words  about  pallida  mors,  and  has 
taken  up  that  well-brushed  broad  hat, 
with  that  ever-fresh  lining,  which  we 
all  admire  in  him,  —  "  O,  I  say, 
Firmin ! "  breaks  out  the  clergyman. 
"Before  you  go  out,  you  must'lend 
me  a  few  sovs,  please.  They  've 
cleaned  me  out  in  Air  Street.  That 
confounded  roulette !  It 's  a  mad- 
ness with  me." 

"  By  George  ! "  cries  the  other, 
with  a  strong  execration,  "  you  are 
too  bad.  Hunt.  Every  week  of  my 
life  you  come  to  me  for  money.  You 
have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere.  I 
won't  give  it  you." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  old  boy,"  says  the 
other,  looking  at  him  a  terrible  look  ; 
"  for  —  " 

"  For  what  ?  "  says  the  Doctor,  the 
veins  qf  his  tall  forehead  growing 
very  full. 

"  For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the 
clergyman.  "  There 's  seven  of  'em 
on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper,  —  that  '11 
do  nicely.  And  he  sweeps  the  fees 
with  a  dirty  hand  into  a  dirty  pouch. 


"Halloa!  Swearin'  and  cursin'  be- 
fore a  clergyman.  Don't  cut  up 
rough,  old  fellow  !  Go  and  take  the 
air.    It  '11  cool  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that 
fellow  to  attend  me,  if  I  was  sick," 
says  Hunt,  shuffling  away,  rolling  the 
plunder  in  his  greasy  hand.  "  I  don't 
think  I  'd  like  to  meet  him  by  moon- 
hght  alone,  in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He 's 
a  determined  chap.  And  his  eyes 
mean  miching  malecho,  his  eyes  do. 
Phew ! "  And  he  laughs,  and  makes 
a  rude  observation  about  Dr.  Firmin's 
eyes. 

That  afternoon,  the  gents  who  used 
the  "  Admiral  Byng"  remarked  the 
reappearance  of  the  party  who  looked 
in  last  evening,  and  who  now  stood 
glasses  round,  and  made  himself  un- 
common agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old 
Mr.  Ridley  says  he  is  quite  the  gen- 
tleman. "  Hevidcnt  have  been  in  for- 
ing  parts  a  great  deal,  and  speaks  the 
languages.  Probbly  have  'ad  mis- 
fortunes, which  many  'ave  'ad  them. 
Drinks  rum-and-water  tremenjous. 
'Ave  scarce  no  heppytite.  Many  get 
into  this  way  from  misfortunes.  A 
plesn  man,  most  well  informed  on  al- 
most every  subjeck.  Think  he 's  a 
clergyman.  He  and  Mr.  Gann  have 
made  quite  a  friendship  together,  he 
and  Mr.  Gann  'ave.  Which  they 
talked  of  Watloo,  and  Gann  is  very 
fond  of  that,  Gann  is,  most  certny." 
I  imagine  Ridley  delivering  these  sen- 
tences, and  alternate  little  volleys  of 
smoke,  as  he  sits  behind  his  sober  cal- 
umet and  prattles  in  the  tavern  parlor. 

After  Dr.  Firmin  has  careered 
through  the  town,  standing  by  sick- 
beds with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled 
and  blessed  by  tender  mothers  who 
hail  him  as  the  savior  of  their  chil- 
dren, touching  ladies'  pulses  with  a 
hand  as  delicate  as  their  own,  patting 
little  fresh  cheeks  with  courtly  kind- 
ness, —  little  cheeks  that  owe  their 
roses  to  his  marvellous  skill ;  after  he 
has  soothed  and  comforted  my  Lady, 
shaken  hands  with  my  Lord,  looked 
in  at  the  club,  and  exchanged  courtly 
salutations  with  brother  big-wigs,  and 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


139 


driven  away  in  the  handsome  carriage 
with  the  noble  horses,  —  admired,  re- 
specting, respectful,  saluted,  salut- 
ing, —  so  that  every  man  says,  "  Ex- 
cellent man,  Firmin.  Excellent  doc- 
tor, excellent  man.  Safe  man.  Sound 
man.  Man  of  good  family-  Mar- 
ried a  rich  wife.  Lucky  man."  And 
so  on.  After  the  day's  triumphant 
career,  I  fancy  I  see  the  Doctor  driv- 
ing homeward,  with  those  sad,  sad 
eyes,  that  haggard  smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  PaiT 
Street  just  as  Phil  saunters  in  from 
Regent  Street,  as  usual,  cigar  in 
mouth.  He  flings  away  the  cigar  as 
he  sees  his  father,  and  they  enter  the 
house  together. 

"  Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip  ?  " 
the  father  asks. 

"  Do  you,  sir  ?  I  will  if  you  do," 
says  the  son,  "  and  if  you  are  alone." 

"  Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there  '11 
be  Hunt,  I  suppose,  whom  you  don't 
like.     But  the    poor  fellow  has  few 

places  to  dine   at.     What?     D 

Hunti  That's  a  strong  expression 
about  a  poor  fellow  in  misfortune, 
and  your  father's  old  friend." 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that 
wicked  monosyllable  whilst  his  father 
was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of 
the  clergyman's  detested  name.  "  I 
beg  ^our  pardon,  father.  It  slipped 
out  m  spite  of  me.  I  can't  help  it. 
I  hate  the  fellow." 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  or 
dislikes,  Philip,"  says,  or  rather 
groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man, 
the  prosperous  man,  the  lucky  man, 
the  miserable  man.  For  years  and 
years  he  has  known  that  his  boy's 
heart  has  revolted  from  him,  and  de- 
tected him,  and  gone  from  him  ;  and 
with  shame  and  remorse,  and  sicken- 
ing feeling,  he  lies  awake  in  the  night- 
watches,  and  thinks  how  he  is  alone, 
—  alone  in  the  world.  Ah  !  Love  your 
parents,  young  ones !  O  Father 
Beneficent !  strengthen  our  hearts : 
strengthen  and  purify  them  so  that 
we  may  not  have  to  blush  before  our 
children  ! 

"  You    don't  disguise   your  likes 


and  dislikes,  Philip,"  says  the  father 
then,  with  a  tone  that  smites  strange- 
ly and  keenly  on  the  young  man. 

There  is  a  great  tremor  in  Philip's 
voice,  as  he  says,  "  No,  father,  I 
can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't 
disguise  my  feelings.  I  have  just 
parted  from  the  man.  I  have  just 
met  him." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  At  —  at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father." 
He  blushes  like  a  girl  as  he  speaks. 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  scared 
by  the  execration  which  hisses  from 
his  father's  lips,  and  the  awful  look 
of  hate  which  the  elder's  face  as- 
sumes,—  that  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen, 
lost  look  which,  man  and  boy,  has 
often  frightened  poor  Phil.  Philip 
did  not  like  that  look,  nor  indeed 
that  other  one,  which  his  father  cast 
at  Hunt,  who  presently  swaggered 
in. 

"  What !  you  dine  here  ?  We  rare- 
ly do  papa  the  honor  of  dining  with 
him,"  says  the  parson,  with  his  know- 
ing leer.  "  I  suppose.  Doctor,  it  is 
to  be  fatted-calf  day  now  the  prodigal 
has  come  home.  There  's  worse 
things  than  a  good  fillet  of  veal; 
eh  '.  " 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the 
greasy  chaplain  leered  and  winked 
over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  bless- 
ing. The  two  elder  guests  tried  to 
be  lively  and  gay,  as  Philip  thought, 
who  took  such  little  trouble  to  dis- 
guise his  own  moods  of  gloom  or 
merriment.  Nothing  was  said  re- 
garding the  occurrences  of  the  morn- 
ing when  my  young  gentleman  had 
been  rather  rude  to  Mr.  Hunt ;  and 
Philip  did  not  need  his  father's  cau- 
tion to  make  no  mention  of  his  pre- 
vious meeting  with  their  guest.  Hunt, 
as  usual,  talked  to  the  butler,  made 
sidelong  remarks  to  the  footman,  and 
garnished  his  conversation  with  slip- 
pery double-entendre  and  dirty  old- 
world  slang.  Betting-houses,  gam- 
bling-houses, Tattersall's  fights  and 
their  frequenters,  were  his  cheerful 
themes,  and  on  these  he  descanted  as 
usual.     The  Doctor  swallowed   this 


140 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


dose,  which  his  friend  poured  out, 
without  the  least  expression  of  dis- 
gust. On  the  contrary,  he  was  cheer- 
ful :  he  was  for  an  extra  bottle  of 
claret,  —  it  never  could  be  in  better 
order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  put  on  the 
table,  and  tasted  and  pronounced 
perfect,  when  —  Oh !  disappointment ! 

—  the  butler  reappears  with  a  note 
for  the  Doctor.  One  of  his  patients. 
He  must  go.  She  has  little  the 
matter  with  her.  She  lives  hard  by, 
in  May  Fair.  "  You  and  Hunt  finish 
this  bottle,  unless  I  am  back  before  it 
is  done ;  and  if  it  is  done,  we  '11  have 
another,"  says  Dr.  Firmin,  jovially. 
"  Don't  stir,  Hunt,"  —  and  Dr.  Fir- 
min is  gone,  leaving  Philip  alone 
with  the  guest  to  whom  he  had 
certainly  been  rude  in  the  morning. 

"  The  Doctor's  patients  often  grow 
very  unwell  about  claret  time,"  growls 
Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  minutes  after. 
"  Never  mind.  The  drink  's  good,  — 
good !  as  somebody  said  at  your 
famous  ca^l-supper,  Mr.  Philip,  — 
won't  call  you  Philip,  as  you  don't 
like  it.  You  were  uncommon  crusty 
to  me  in  the  morning,  to  be  sure.  In 
my  time  there  would  have  been  bottles 
broke,  or  worse,  for  that  sort  of  treat- 
ment." 

"  I  have  asked  your  pardon," 
Philip  said.     "  I  was  annoyed  about 

—  no  matter  what,  —  and  had  no 
right  to  be  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon's 
guest." 

"  I  say,  did  you  tell  the  governor 
that  you  saw  me  in  Thornhaugh 
Street  ?  "  asks  Hunt. 

"  I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered, 
and  atrain  .1  confess  I  was  wrong," 
said  Phil,  boggling  and  stuttering, 
and  turning  very  red.  He  remem- 
bered his  father's  injunction. 

"  I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  your 
father  of  our  meeting  this  morning  ■?  " 
demands  the  clergyman. 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  right  have 
you  to  ask  me  about  my  private  con- 
versation with  my  father  ? "  asks 
Philip,  with  towering  dignity. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  ^     "Then  you 


have  told  him.     He  's  a  nice  man, 
your  father  is,  for  a  moral  man." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  your  opinion 
about  my  father's  morality,  Mr. 
Hunt,"  says  Philip,  gasping  in  a  be- 
wildered manner,  and  drumming  the 
table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace  him  in 
his  absence,  and  treat  his  guest  with 
civility." 

"  Civility  !  Pretty  civility  !  "  says 
the  other,  glaring  at  him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best, 
and  —  I  —  I  have  no  other,"  groans 
the  young  man. 

"  Old  friend  of  yonr  father's,  a  uni- 
versity man,  a  Master  of  Arts,  a  gen- 
tleman born,  by  Jove  !  a  clergyman 
—  though  I  sink  that  —  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  do  sink  that,"  says 
Philip. 

"Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the 
clergyman,  "  to  be  treated  by  you  in 
this  way  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you 
know  who  you  are  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  my 
strength  to  remember,"  says  Philip. 

"  Come  !  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of 
your  confounded  airs  on  me !  "  shrieks 
Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and 
swallowing  glass  after  glass  from  the 
various  decanters  before  him.  "  Hang 
me,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I  would 
have  sent  one  —  two  at  your  nob, 
though  you  were  twice  as  tall !  Who 
are  you,  to  patronize  j'our  senior, 
your  father's  old  pal  —  a  university 
man  :  —  you  confounded,  supercili- 
ous —  " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention 
to  my  father's  guest,"  says  Phil ; 
t  "  but  if  you  have  finished  your  wine, 
i  I  shall  be  happy  to  break  up  the 
\  meeting  as  early  as  you  please." 
I  "  You  shall  pay  me ;  I  swear  you 
I  shall,"  said  Hunt. 

"O  Mr.  Hunt !"  cried  Philip,  jump- 
I  ing  up,  and  clenching  his  great  fists, 
I  "  I  should  desire  nothing  better." 

The  man  shrank  back,  thinking 
!  Philip  was  going  to  strike  him  (as 
;  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene), 
i  and  made  for  the  hell,  but  when  the 
I  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked  for 
1  coffee ;    and  Hunt,  uttering  a  mad 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Ml 


oath  or  two,  staggered  out  of  the  room 
after  the  servant.  Bricc  said  he  Imd 
been  drinking  before  he  came.  He 
was  often  so.  And  Phil  blessed  liis 
stars  that  he  had  not  assaulted  his 
father's  guest  then  and  there,  under 
his  own  root-tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He 
gasped  and  cooled  himself  under  the 
stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his 
customary  consolation  of  tobacco. 
He  remembered  that  Ridley  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  held  a  divan  that  night; 
and  jumped  into  a  cab,  and  drove 
to  his  old  friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came 
to  the  door  as  the  cab  was  driving 
away,  stopped  it ;  and  as  Phil  entered 
the  passage,  he  found  the  Little  Sister 
and  his  father  talking  together  in  the 
hall.  The  Doctor's  broad  hat  shaded 
his  face  from  the  hall-lamp,  which 
was  burning  with  an  extra  brightness, 
but  Mrs.  Brandon's  was  very  pale, 
and  she  had  been  crying. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  when  she 
saw  Phil.  "  Ah !  is  it  you,  dear  ?  " 
she  said.  She  ran  up  to  him  :  seized 
both  his  hands :  clung  to  him,  and 
sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on  his 
hand.  "  I  never  will.  0,  never, 
never,  never ! "   she  murmured. 

The  Doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as 
with  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  He  looked 
at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  Avith 
a  strange  smile ;  —  not  a  sweet  smile. 

"  God  bless  you,  Caroline,"  he  said, 
in  his  pompous,  rather  theatrical  way. 

"  Good  night,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bran- 
don, still  clinging  to  Philip's  hand, 
and  making  the  Doctor  a  little 
humble  courtesy.  And  when  he  was 
gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's  hand, 
and  dropped  her  tears  on  it,  and  said, 
"  Never,  my  dear  ;  no,  never,  never  ! " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN     WHICH      PHILIP      IS      VERT      ILL 
TEMPERED. 

Philip  had  long  divined  a  part  of 
his  dear  httla  friend's  history.    An 


uneducated  young  girl  had  been 
lijuiid,  cajoled,  deserted  by  a  gentle- 
man of  the  world.  And  poor  Caro- 
line was  the  victim,  and  Philip's  own 
father  the  seducer.  He  easily  guessed 
as  much  as  this  of  the  sad  little  story. 
Dr.  Firm  in 's  part  in  it  was  enough 
to  shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of  dis- 
gust, and  to  increase  the  mistrust, 
doubt,  alienation,  with  which  tlie 
father  had  long  inspired  the  son. 
What  would  Philip  feel,  when  all  the 
pages  of  that  dark  book  were  opened 
to  him,  and  he  came  to  hear  of  a 
false  marriage,  and  a  ruined  and  out- 
cast woman,  deserted  for  years  by 
the  man  to  whom  he  himself  was 
most  bound  ?  In  a  word,  Philip  had 
considered  this  as  a  mere  case  of  early 
libertinism,  and  no  more  ;  and  it  was 
as  such,  in  the  very  few  words  which 
he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting 
this  matter,  that  he  had  chosen  to 
regard  it.  I  knew  no  more  than  my 
friend  had  told  me  of  the  story  as 
yet;  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  I 
learned  it,  and  as  events,  now  sul 'se- 
quent, served  to  develop  and  explain 
it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned 
by  his  old  acquaintance,  and,  as  it 
appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days, 
regarding  the  end  of  a  certain  intrigue 
at  Margate,  which  had  occurred  some 
four  or  five  and  twenty  years  back, 
and  when  Firmin,  having  reason,  to 
avoid  his  college  creditors,  chose  to 
live  away  and  bear  a  false  name,  had 
told  the  clergyman  a  number  of  fal>e- 
hoods  which  appeared  to  satisfy  him. 
What  had  become  of  that  poor  little 
thing  about  whom  he  had  made  such 
a  fool  of  himself  ^  O,  she  was  dead, 
dead  ever  so  many  years  before.  He 
had  pensioned  her  oif.  She  had 
married,  and  died  in  Canada,  —  yes, 
in  Canada.  Poor  little  thing  !  Yes, 
she  was  a  good  little  thing,  and,  at 
ohe  time,  he  had  been  very  soft  about 
her.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  state  of 
a  respectable  gentleman  that  he  to'd 
lies,  and  told  lies  habitually  and 
easily.  But,  you  see,  if  you  couuiiit 
a  crime,  and  break  a  sc/enth  com 


142 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


mandment  let  us  say,  or  an  eighth, 
or  choose  any  number  you  will,  — you 
will  probably  have  to  back  ti>e  lie  of 
action  by  the  lie  of  the  tongue,  and 
60  you  are  fairly  warned,  and  I  have 
no  help  for  you.  If  I  murder  a  man, 
and  the  policeman  inquires,  "  Pray, 
sir,  did  you  cut  this  here  gentleman's 
throat  VI  must  bear  false  witness, 
you  see,  out  of  self-defence,  though 
I  may  be  naturally  a  most  reliable, 
truth-telling  man.  And  so  with  re- 
gard to  many  crimes  which  gentle- 
men commit,  —  it  is  painful  to  have 
to  say  respecting  gentlemen,  but  they 
become  neither  more  nor  less  than 
habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying 
on  through  life  to  you,  to  me,  to 
the  servants,  to  their  wives,  to  their 
children,  to  —  0  awful  name!  I  bow 
and  humble  myself.  May  we  kneel, 
may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak 
our  falsehoods  before  Thee ! 

And  so,  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that 
after  committing  any  infraction  of 
the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in 
order  to  back  yourself  out  of  your 
scrape,  let  me  ask  you,  as  a  man  of 
honor  and  a  gentleman,  whether  you 
had  not  bettor  forego  the  crime,  so 
as  to  avoid  the  unavoidable,  and 
unpleasant,  and  daily-recurring  ne- 
cessity of  the  subsequent  perjury  f 
A  poor  young  girl  of  the  lower 
orders,  cajoled,  or  ruined,  more  or 
less,  is  of  course  no  great  matter. 
The  little  baggage  is  turned  out  of 
doors,  —  worse  luck  for  her !  —  or  she 
gets  a  place,  or  she  marries  one  of 
her  own  class,  who  has  not  the  ex- 
quisite delicacy  belonging  to  "  gentle 
blood, "  —  and  there  is  an  end  of  her. 
But  if  you  marry-^  her  privately  and 
irregularly  yourself,  and  then  "throw 
her  off,  and  then  marry  somebody 
else,  you  are  brought  to  book  in  all 
sorts  of  unpleasant  ways.  I  am 
writing  of  quite  an  old  story,  be 
pleased  to  remember.  The  first  pafl; 
of  the  history  I  myself  printed  some 
twenty  years  ago ;  and  if  you  fancy 
I  allude  to  any  more  modern  period, 
madam,  you  are  entirely  out  in  your 
conjecture. 


It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleas- 
ant duty  for  a  man  of  fashion, 
honor,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to 
a  poor  tipsy,  disreputable  bankrupt 
merchant  s  daughter,  such  as  Caroline 
Ganu,  but  George  Brand  Firmin, 
Esq.,  M.  D.,  had  no  other  choice,  and 
when  he  lied, — as  in  severe  cases, 
when  he  administered  calomel,  —  he 
thought  it  best  to  give  the  drug  free- 
ly. Thus  he  lied  to  Hunt,  saying 
that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  long  since 
dead  in  Canada ;  and  he  lied  to  Cai-- 
oline,  prescribing  for  her  the  very 
same  pill,  as  it  were,  and  saying  that 
Hunt  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada 
too.  And  I  can  fancy  few  more 
painful  and  humiliating  positions  tor 
a  man  of  rank  and  fashion  and  reputa- 
tion, than  to  have  to  demean  himself 
so  far  as  to  tell  lies  to  a  little  low-bred 
person,  who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse 
of  the  sick,  aud  has  not  the  proper  use 
of  her  h's. 

"  O  yes.  Hunt ! "  Firmin  had  said 
to  the  Little  Sister,  in  one  of  those 
sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes 
took  place  between  him  and  his  vic- 
tim, his  wife  of  old  days.  "  A  wild, 
bad  man.  Hunt  was,  —  in  days  when 
I  own  I  was  little  better !  I  have 
deeply  repented  since,  Caroline  ;  of 
nothing  more  than  of  my  conduct  to 
you  ;  for  you  were  worthy  of  a  bet- 
ter fate,  and  you  loved  me  truly,  — 
madly." 

"  Yes,"  says  Caroline. 

"  I  Avas  wild  then  !  I  was  despe- 
rate! I  had  ruined  my  fortunes,  es- 
tranged my  father  from  me,  was  hid- 
ing from  my  creditors  under  an 
assumed  name,  —  that  under  which  I 
saw  you.  Ah,  why  did  I  ever  come 
to  your  house,  my  poor  child  ?  The 
mark  of  the  demon  was  upon  me.  I 
did  not  dare  to  speak  of  marriage  be- 
fore my  father.  You  have  yours,  and 
tend  him  with  your  ever  constant 
goodness.  Do  you  know  that  my 
fuher  would  not  see  me  when  ho 
died  ?  O,  it 's  a  cruel  thing  to  think 
of ! "  And  the  suffering  creature 
slaps  his  tall  forehead  with  his  trem- 
bling hand ;  and  some  of  his  grief 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


143 


abont  his  own  father,  I  dare  say,  is 
sifv^ere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  sukI 
remorse  of  being  alienated  from  his 
own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage,  —  that  it  was 
a  most  wicked  and  unjustifia!)le  deceit 
he  owned  ;  but  he  was  wild  when  it 
took  place,  wild  with  debt  and  with 
despair  at  his  father's  estrangement 
from  him,  — but  the  fact  was  it  was 
no  marriage. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that !  "  sighed  the 
poor  Little  Sister. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  other  eagerly. 
His  love  was  dead,  but  his  vanity  was 
still  hale  and  well.  "  Did  you  care 
for  somebody  else,  Caroline  ■?  Did 
you  forget  your  George  whom  you 
used  to  —  " 

"  No  !  "  said  the  little  woman, 
bravely.  "  But  I  could  n't  live  with 
a  man  who  behaved  to  any  woman 
so  dishonest  as  you  behaved  to  me. 
I  liked  you  because  I  thought  you 
was  a  gentleman.  My  poor  painter 
was  whom  you  used  to  despise 
and  trample  to  hearth,  —  and  my 
dear  dear  rhilip  is,  Mr.  Firmin.  But 
gentlemen  tell  the  truth  !  gentlemen 
don't  deceive  poor  innocent  girls,  and 
desert  'em  without  a  penny ! " 

"  Caroline !  I  was  driven  by  my 
creditors.     I  —  " 

"  Never  mind.  It 's  over  now.  I 
bear  you  no  malice,  Mr.  Firmin,  but 
I  would  not  marry  you,  no,  not  to  be 
doctor's  wife  to  the  Queen  !  " 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's 
language  when  there  was  no  thought 
of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergy- 
man who  had  celebrated  their  mar- 
riage ;  and  I  don't  know  whether 
i^irmin  was  most  piqued  or  pleased  at 
the  divorce  which  the  little  woman 
pronounced  of  her  own  decree.  But 
when  the  ill-omened  Hunt  made  his 
appearance,  doubts  and  terrors  filled 
the  physician's  mind.  Hunt  was 
needy,  greedy,  treacherous,  unscrupu- 
lous, desperate.  He  could  hold  this 
marriage  over  the  Doctor.  He  could 
threaten,  extort,  expose,  perhaps  in- 
validate Philip's  legitimacy.  The 
first  marriage  almost  certainly  was 


null,  but  the  scandal  would  be  fatal 
to  Firmin's  rcputution  and  practice. 
And  the  (jiiarrcl  with  his  son  entailed 
cuiisequuncts  not  pleasant  tu  think  of. 
You  see  George  I'irmin,  Esq.,  M.  D., 
was  a  man  with  a  great  (levclo|jnient 
of  the  buck  liead ;  when  he  willed  a 
thing,  he  willed  it  so  fiercely  thiit  he 
iHust  have  it,  never  mind  the  conse- 
quences. And  so  he  had  willed  to 
make  himself  master  of  poor  little 
Caroline  :  and  so  he  had  willed,  as  a 
young  man,  to  have  horses,  splendid 
entertainments,  roulette  and  ecarte, 
and  so  forth  ;  and  the  bill  came  at  its 
natural  season,  and  George  Firmin, 
Esq.,  did  not  always  like  to  pay. 
But  for  a  grand,  prosperous,  highly 
bred  gentleman  in  the  best  society  — 
with  a  polished  forehead  and  manners, 
and  universally  looked  up  to  —  to 
have  to  tell  lies  to  a  poor  little,  timid, 
uncomplaining,  sick-room  nurse,  it 
was  humiliating,  was  n't  it  1  And  I 
can  feel  for  I^irmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgust- 
ing :  but  somehow  not  so  exquisitely 
mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to 
cheat  a  little  trusting,  humble,  house- 
less creature,  over  the  bloom  of  whose 
gentle  young  life  his  accursed  foot 
had  already  trampled.  But  then  this 
Hunt  was  such  a  cad  and  ruffian  that 
there  need  be  no  scruple  about  hum- 
bugging him  ;  and  if  Firmin  had  had 
any  humor  he  might  have  had  a  grim 
sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the  dirty 
clergyman  a  dance  thoro'  bush  thoro' 
briar.  So,  perhaps  (of  course  I  have 
no  means  of  ascertaining  the  fact),  the 
Doctor  did  not  altogether  dislike  the 
duty  which  now  devolved  on  him  of 
hoodwinking  his  old  acquaintance 
and  accomplice.  I  don't  like  to  use 
such  a  vulgar  phrase  regarding  a  man 
in  Doctor  Firmin's  high  social  posi- 
tion, as  to  say  of  him  and  the  jail 
chaplain  that  it  was  "  thief  catch 
thief"  ;  but  at  any  rate  Hunt  is  such 
a  low  graceless,  friendless  vagabond, 
that  if  he  comes  in  for  a  few  kicks,  or 
is  mystified,  we  need  not  be  very  sor- 
ry. When  Mr.  Thurtell  is  hung  Ave 
don't  put  on  mourning.     His  is  a 


144 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


painful  position  for  the  moment ;  but, 
after  all,  he  has  murdered  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous 
man,  hot  in  pursuit,  fierce  in  desire, 
but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  ac- 
tion. Some  of  his  great  successes  as 
a  physician  arose  from  his  daring  and 
successful  practice  in  sudden  emer- 
gency. While  Hunt  was  only  lurch- 
ing about  the  town  an  aimless 
miscreant,  living  from  dirty  hand  to 
dirty  mouth,  and  as  long  as  he  could 
get  drink,  cards,  and  shelter,  tolerably 
content,  or  at  least  pretty  easily 
appeased  by  a  guinea-dose  or  two,  — 
Firmin  could  adopt  the  palliative 
system ;  soothe  his  patient  with  an 
occasional  bounty ;  set  him  to  sleep 
with  a  composing  draught  of  claret 
or  brandy ;  and  let  the  day  take  care 
of  itself.  He  might  die ;  he  might 
have  a  fancy  to  go  abroad  again  ;  he 
niiglit  be  transported  for  forgery  or 
some  other  rascaldom,  Dr.  Firmin 
would  console  himself;  and  he  trusted 
to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get  rid 
of  his  friend.  But  Hunt,  aware  that 
the  woman  was  alive  whom  he  had 
actually,  though  unlawfully,  married 
to  Firmin,  became  an  enemy  wiiom 
it  was  necessary  to  subdue,  to  cajole, 
or  to  bribe,  and  the  sooner  the  Doctor 
put  himself  on  his  defence  the  better. 
What  sliould  tlie  defence  be  ?  Per- 
haps the  most  effectual  wis  a  fierce 
attack  on  the  enemy  ;  perhap-i  it  would 
be  better  to  bribe  him.  The  course 
to  be  taken  would  be  best  ascertained 
after  a  little  previous  reconnoitring. 

"  He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline," 
the  Doctor  thought,  "  by  representing 
her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her. 
He  will  show  her  that,  as  my  wife, 
she  has  a  right  to  my  name  and  a 
share  of  my  income.  A  less  merce- 
nary woman  never  lived  than  this 
poor  little  creature.  She  disdains 
money,  and,  except  for  her  fiither's 
sake,  would  have  taken  none  of  mine. 
But  to  punish  me  for  certainly  rather 
shabby  behavior ;  to  claim  and  take 
her  own  right  and  position  in  the 
world  as  an  honest  woman,  may  she 


not  be  induced  to  declare  war  against 
me,  and  stand  by  her  marriage  t 
After  she  left  home,  her  two  Irish 
half-sisters  deserted  her  and  spat 
upon  her ;  and  when  she  would  have 
returned,  the  heartless  women  drove 
her  from  the  door.  O  the  vixens ! 
And  now  to  drive  by  them  in  her 
carriage,  to  claim  a  maintenance 
from  me,  and  to  have  a  right  to  my 
honorable  name,  would  she  not  have 
her  dearest  revenge  over  her  sisters 
by  so  declaring  her  marriage  ?  " 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him 
very  considerably  on  this  point.  He 
knew  women,  and  how  those  had 
treated  their  little  sister.  Was  it  in 
human  nature  not  to  be  revenged? 
These  thoughts  rose  straightway  in 
Firmin's  mind,  when  he  heard  that 
the  much  dreaded  meeting  between 
Caroline  and  the  chaplain  had  come 
to  pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest, 
his  enemy,  opposite  to  him,  he  was 
determining  on  his  plan  of  action. 
The  screen  was  up,  and  he  was 
laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to  speaL 
Of  course  he  was  as  civil  to  Hunt  as 
the  tenant  to  his  landlord  when  he 
comes  with  no  rent.  So  the  Doctor 
laughed,  joked,  bragged,  talked  his 
best,  and  was  thinking  the  while 
what  was  to  be  done  against  the 
danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed. 
He  must  see  Caroline  immediately. 
He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heart, 
and  where  she  was  most  likely  to  be 
vulnerable.  And  he  would  act 
against  her  as  barbarians  of  old 
acted  against  their  enemies,  when 
they  brought  the  captive  wives  and 
children  in  front  of  the  battle,  and 
bade  the  foe  strike  through  them. 
He  knew  how  Caroline  loved  his  boy. 
It  was  through  that  love  he  would 
work  upon  her.  As  he  washes  his 
pretty  hands  for  dinner,  and  bathes 
his  noble  brow,  he  arranges  his  little 
plan.  He  orders  himself  to  be  sent 
for  soon  after  the  second  bottle  of 
claret,  —  and  it  appears  the  Doc- 
tor's servants  were  accustomed  to  the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


145 


delivery  of  these  messages  from  tlicir 
master  to  himself.  The  plan  arranged, 
now  let  us  take  our  dinner  and  our 
wine,  and  make  ourselves  comtbrtable 
until  the  moment  of  action.  In  his 
wild-oats  days,  when  travelling 
abroad  with  wild  and  noble  compan- 
ions, Firmin  had  fought  a  duel  or  two, 
and  was  always  remarkable  for  his 
gayety  of  conversation  and  the  fine 
appetite  which  he  showed  at  breakfast 
before  going  on  to  the  field.  So, 
perhaps.  Hunt,  had  he  not  been 
Ptupefied  by  previous  drink,  mif:ht 
have  taken  the  alarm  by  remarking 
Firmin's  extra  courtesy  and  gayety, 
as  they  dined  together.  It  was  nunc 
viniim,  (Tus  wquor. 

Wiien  the  second  bottle  of  claret 
was  engaged.  Dr.  I'irmin  starts.  He 
has  an  advance  of  half  an  hour  at 
least  on  his  adversary,  or  on  the  man 
who  may  be  his  adversary.  If  the 
Little  Sister  is  at  home,  he  will  see 
her,  —  he  will  lay  bare  his  candid 
heart  to  her,  and  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it.  The  Little  Sister  was  at 
home. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  par- 
ticularly about  that  case  of  jjoor  Lady 
Humandhaw,"  says  he,  dropping  his 
voice. 

"  I  will  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take 
a  little  fresh  air,"  says  Captain  Gann  ; 
meaning  that  he  will  be  off  to  the 
"Admiral  Byng";  and  the  two  are 
together. 

"  I  have  had  something  on  my  con- 
science. I  have  deceived  you,  Caro- 
line," says  the  Doctor,  with  the  beau- 
tiful shining  forehead  and  hat. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bend- 
ing over  her  work ;  "  you  've  used  me 
to  that." 

"  A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and 
who  tempted  me  for  his  own  selfish 
ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  thing  by  you, 
—  a  man  whom  I  thought  dead  is 
alive :  —  Tufton  Hunt,  who  performed 
that  —  that  illegal  ceremony  at  Mar- 
gate, of  which  so  often  and  often  on 
my  knees  I  have  repented,  Caro- 
line! " 

The  beautiful  hands  are  clasped, 
7 


the  beautiful  deep  voice  thrills  lowly 
through  the  room;  and  if  a  tear  or 
two  can  be  stiuee/.ed  out  of  the  beau- 
tiful eyes,  1  dare  say  the  Doctor  will 
not  be  sorry. 

"He  has  been  here  to-day.  Him 
and  Mr.  Philip  was  here  and  quar- 
relled. Philip  has  told  you,  I  sup- 
pose, sir  ?  " 

"  IBefore  Heaven,  '  on  the  word  of  a 
gentleman,'  when  I  said  he  was  dead, 
Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead ! 
Yes,  I  declare,  at  our  college.  Max- 
well—  Dr.  Maxwell  —  who  had  been 
at  Cambridge  with  us,  told  me  that 
our  old  friend  Hunt  had  died  in  Can- 
ada." (This,  my  beloved  friends  and 
readers,  may  not  have  been  the  pre- 
cise long  bow  which  George  Firmin, 
Esq.,  M.  D.,  pulled ;  but  that  he 
twanged  a  famous  lie  out,  whenever 
there  was  occasion  for  the  weapon,  I 
assure  yon  is  an  undoubted  fact.) 
"  Yes,  Dr.  Maxwell  told  me  our  old 
friend  was  dead,  —  our  old  friend  ? 
My  worst  enemy  and  yours !  But  let 
that  pass.  It  was  he,  Caroline,  who 
led  me  into  crimes  which  I  have  never 
ceased  to  deplore." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  sighs  the  Lit- 
tle Hster,  "  since  I  've  known  you, 
you  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of 
your.self  in  that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself, 
Caroline,"  says  the  deep,  sweet  voice. 
"  I  have  done  you  enough  wrong,  and 
I  feel  it  here  —  at  this  heart.  I  have 
not  come  to  speak  about  myself,  but 
of  some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the 
world,  —  the  only  being  I  do  love,  — 
some  one  you  love,  you  good  and 
generous  soul,  —  about  Philip." 

"  What  is  it  about  Philip  .'  "  asks 
Mrs.  Brandon,  very  quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to 
him  ?  " 

"  O  my  darling  boy,  no  !  "  cries  the 
Little  Sister,  clasping  her  little 
hands. 

"  Would  you  keep  him  from 
harm  ? " 

"Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would. 
When  he  had  the  scarlet  fever,  did  n't 
I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat, 


U6 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


and  nurse  him,  and  tend  him,  as  if, 
as  if — as  a  mother  would  her  own 
child  ? " 

"  You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  no- 
ble woman ;  and  Heaven  bless  you 
for  it !  A  father  does.  I  am  not  all 
heartless,  Caroline,  as  you  deem  me, 
perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  it 's  much  merit, 
your  loving  him,"  says  Caroline,  re- 
suming her  sewing.  And,  perhaps, 
she  tliinks  within  herself,  "  What  is 
he  a  coming  to  ? "  You  see  she  was 
a  shrewd  little  person,  when  her  pas- 
sions and  partialities  did  not  over- 
come her  reason ;  and  she  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  this  elegant 
Dr.  Firmin,  whom  she  had  admired 
so  once,  was  a  —  not  altogether  vera- 
cious gentleman.  In  fact,  I  heard 
her  myself  say  afterwards,  "  La!  he 
used  to  talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  you  know;  but  I 
used  n't  to  believe  him,  no  morj  than 
a  man  in  a  play."  "  It 's  not  much 
merit  your  loving  that  boy,"  says 
Caroline,  then.  "Bat  what  about 
him,  sir  ? " 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man 
Hunt  was  capable  of  any  crime  for 
money  or  revenge.  Seeing  Caroline 
was  alive  .  .  . 

"  I  s'posc  you  told  him  I  was  dead 
too,  sir,"  says  she,  looking  up  from 
the  work. 

"  Spare  me,  spare  me !  Years  ago, 
perhaps,  when  I  had  lost  sight  of  you, 
I  may,  perhaps,  have  thought  ..." 

"  And  it 's  not  to  you,  George 
Brandon,  —  it's  not  to  you,'  cries 
Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking 
with  her  sweet,  innocent,  ringing 
voice,  "  it 's  to  kind,  dear  friends,  — 
it 's  to  my  good  Grod  that  I  owe  my 
life,  which  you  had  flung  it  away. 
And  I  paid  you  back  by  guarding 
your  boy's  dear  life,  I  did,  under  — 
under  Him  who  giveth  and  taketh. 
And  bless  His  name.! " 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  I  am 
a  bad,  sinful  man,  Caroline,"  says  the 
other.  "  You  saved  my  Philip's  — 
our  Philip's  life,  at  the  risk  of  your 
own.    Now  I  tell  you  that  another 


immense  danger  menaces  hiin,  and 
may  come  upon  him  any  day  as  long 
as  yonder  scoundrel  is  alive.  Sup- 
pose his  character  is  assailed;  sup- 
pose, thinking  you  dead,  I  married 
another  ?  " 

"  Ah,  George,  you  never  thought 
me  dead ;  tliough,  perhaps,  you 
wished  it,  sir.  And  many  would 
have  died,"  added  the  poor  Little 
Sister. 

"  Look,  Caroline  !  If  I  was  mar- 
ried to  you,  my  wife  —  Philip's  moth- 
er —  was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her 
natural  son.  The  property  he  inher- 
its does  not  belong  to  him.  The 
children  of  his  grandfather's  other 
daughter  claim  it,  and  Philip  is  a 
beggar.  Philip,  bred  as  he  lias  been, 
—  Philip,  the  heir  to  a  mother's  large 
fortune. 

"  And  —  and  his  father's,  too  1 " 
asks  Caroline,  anxiously. 

"I  dare  n't  tell  you  —  though,  no, 
by  Heavens  !  1  can  trust  you  with 
everything.  My  own  great  gains 
have  been  swallowed  up  in  specula- 
tions which  have  been  almost  all 
fatal.  There  has  been  a  fate  hanging 
over  me,  Caroline,  —  a  righteous  pun- 
ishment for  having  deserted  you.  I 
sleep  with  a  sword  over  my  head  which 
may  fall  and  destroy  me.  I  walk 
with  a  volcano  under  my  feet,  which 
may  burst  any  day  and  annihilate 
me.  And  people  speak  of  tlie  famous 
Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich  Dr.  Firmin,  the 
prosperous  Dr.  Firmin  !  I  shall  have 
a  title  soon,  I  believe.  I  am  believed 
to  be  happy,  and  I  am  alone,  and  the 
wretchedest  man  alive." 

"  Alone,  are  you  ?  "  said  Caroline. 
"  There  was  a  woman  once  would 
have  kept  by  you,  only  you  —  you 
flung  her  away.  Look  here,  George 
Brandon.  It 's  over  with  us.  Years 
and  years  ago  it  lies  where  a  little 
cherub  was  buried.  But  I  love  my 
Philip;  and  I  won't  hurt  him,  no, 
never,  never,  never !  " 

And  as  the  Doctor  turned  to  go 
away,  Caroline  followed  him  wistfully 
into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that 
Philip  found  them. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


147 


•  Caroline's  tender  "never,  never," 
rang  in  Philip's  memory  as  he  sat  at 
Ridley's  party,  amidst  the  artists  and 
authors  there  assembled.  Phil  was 
thoughtful  and  silent.  He  did  not 
laugh  very  loud.  He  did  not  praise 
or  abuse  anybody  outrageously,  as 
was  the  wont  of  that  most  emphatic 
young  gentleman.  He  scarcely  con- 
tradicted a  single  person  ;  and  per- 
haps, when  Larkins  said  Scumble's 
last  picture  was  beautiful,  or  Bunch, 
the  critic  of  the  Connoisseur,  praised 
Bowman's  last  novel,  contented  him- 
self with  a  scornful  "  Ho  !  "  and  a 
pull  at  his  whiskers,  by  way  of  pro- 
test and  denial.  Had  he  been  in  his 
usual  fine  spirits,  and  enjoying  his 
ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he  would  have 
informed  Larkins  and  the  assembled 
company  not  only  that  Scumble  was 
an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins, 
was  an  idiot  for  admiring  him.  He 
would  have  informed  Bunch  that  he 
was  infatuated  about  that  jackass 
Bowman,  that  cockney,  that  wretched 
ignoramus,  who  didn't  know  his  own 
or  any  other  language.  He  would 
have  taken  down  one  of  Bowman's 
stories  from  the  shelf,  and  proved  the 
folly,  imbecility,  and  crass  ignorance 
of  that  author.  (Ridley  has  a  simple 
little  stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an 
old  cabinet  in  his  studio,  and  reads 
them  still  with  much  artless  wonder 
and  respect.)  Or,  to  be  sure,  Phil 
would  have  asserted  propositions  the 
exact  contrary  of  those  here  main- 
tained, and  declared  that  Bowman 
was  a  genius,  and  Scumble  a  most 
accomplished  artist.  But  then,  you 
know,  somebody  else  must  have  com- 
menced by  taking  the  other  side. 
Certainly  a  more  paradoxical,  and 
provoking,  and  obstinate,  and  contra- 
dictory disputant  than  Mr.  Phil  I 
never  knew.  I  never  met  Dr.  John- 
son, who  died  before  I  came  up  to 
town ;  but  I  do  believe  Phil  Firmin 
would  have  stood  up  and  argued  even 
with  him. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host 
provided  the  modest  and  kindly  re- 
freshment, and   Betsy   the  maid,  or 


Virgilio  the  model,  travelled  to  and 
fro  with  glasses  and  water.  Each 
guest  Ijrought  his  own  smoke,  and  I 
jjromisc  you  there  weie  such  liberal 
contributions  of  the  article,  that  the 
studio  was  full  of  it ;  and  new-comers 
used  to  be  saluted  by  a  roiir  of  laugh- 
ter as  you  heard,  rather  than  saw, 
them  entering,  and  choking  in  the 
fog.  It  was,  "Holloa,  Prodgers !  is 
that  you,  old  boy  7  "  and  the  beard  of 
Prodgers  (that  famous  sculptor) 
would  presently  loom  through  the 
cloud.  It  was,  "  Newcome,  how 
goes?"  and  Mr.  Clive  Newcome  (a 
mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a 
famous  good  fellow,  with  an  uncom- 
monly ]  retty  villa  and  pretty  and 
rich  wife  at  Wimbledon)  would  make 
his  appearance,  and  be  warmly  greet- 
ed by  our  little  host.  It  was  "  Is 
that  you,  F.  B.  ?  would  you  like  a 
link,  old  boy,  to  see  you  through  the 
fog  f  "  And  the  deep  voice  of  Fred- 
erick Bayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent 
critic  on  Art),  would  boom  out  of  the 
tobacco-mist,  and  would  exclaim,  "  A 
link  1  I  would  like  a  drink."  Ah, 
ghosts  of  yoiiih,  again  ye  draw  near  ! 
Old  figures  glimmer  through  the 
cloud.  Old  songs  echo  out  of  the  dis- 
tance. What  were  you  saying  aron 
about  Dr.  Johnson,  boys  ?  I  am  sure 
some  of  us  must  remember  him.  As 
for  me,  I  am  so  old,  that  I  niiglit  have 
been  at  Edial  school, —  the  other  pu- 
pil along  with  little  Davy  Garrick 
and  his  brother. 

We  bad  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the 
Temple  so  lately  that  1  think  we 
must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a 
smoking-party  in  Thomhaugh  Street, 
or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we  are  t(  o 
Ibnd  of  bachelor  habits,  and  kcej)  our 
friends  away  from  their  cliarniiug 
and  amiable  society.  A  novel  mubt 
not  smell  ot  cigars  much,  nor  should 
its  refined  and  genteel  page  be  stained 
with  too  frequent  braiuly-and-water. 
Please  to  imagine,  then,  the  j>rattIeof 
the  artists,  authors,  and  amateurs  as- 
sembled at  Ridley's  divan.  I'ancy 
Jarman,  the  miniature-painter,  drink- 
ing more  liquor  than  any  man  present, 


148 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


asking  his  neighbor  (stib  voce)  why 
Ridley  does  not  give  his  father  (the 
old  butler)  live  shillings  to  vrait ; 
suggesting  that  perhaps  the  old  man 
is  gone  out,  and  is  getting  seven-and- 
sixpence  elsewhere ;  praising  Ridley's 
picture  aloud,  a:id  sneering  at  it  in 
an  undertone;  and  when  a  man  of 
rank  happens  to  enter  the  room, 
shambling  up  to  him  and  fawning  on 
him,  and  cringing  to  him  with  ful- 
some praise  and  flattery.  When  the 
gentleman's  back  is  turned,  Jarman 
can  spit  epigrams  at  it.  I  hope  he 
will  never  forgive  Ridley,  and  always 
continue  to  hati  him :  for  hate  him 
Jarman  will,  as  long  as  he  is  pros- 
perous, and  curse  him  as  loag  as  ihe 
world  esteems  him.  Look  at  Pym,  the 
incumbent  of  Sa.at  Bronze  hard  by, 
coming  in  to  join  thj  literary  and 
artistic  assembly,  and  choking  in  his 
white  neckcloth  to  the  diversion  of 
all  the  company  who  can  see  him ! 
Sixteen,  eighteen,  twenty  men  are 
assembled.  Open  the  windows,  or 
sure  they  will  all  be  stifled  with  the 
smoke !  Why,  it  fills  the  whole 
house  so,  that  the  Little  Sister  has  to 
open  her  parlor  window  on  the 
ground-floor,  and  gasp  for  fresh  air. 

Phil's  hcaJ  and  cigar  are  thrust 
out  from  a  window  above,  an  1  he 
lolls  there,  musing  atout  his  own  af- 
fairs, as  his  smoie  :iscend-i  to  the 
skies.  Young  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is 
known  to  be  wealthy,  anfl  his  father 
gives  very  good  parties  n  Old  Parr 
Street,  so  Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil 
and  wanes  a  little  fresh  air  too.  He 
enters  into  conversation  by  al)using 
Ridley's  picture  that  is  on  the  ea- 
sel. 

"  Everybody  is  praising  it  ;  what 
do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Firmin  f 
Very  (jueer  drawing  about  those  eyes, 
isn't  there  ? " 

"  Is  there  ?  growls  Phil. 

"  Verv  loud  color." 

"Oh!"  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly 
prigged  from  liaphaeL" 

"  Indeed ! " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.    I  don't  think 


you  know  who  I  am,"  continues  the 
other,  witii  a  simper. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  says  Phil,  glaring  aX 
him.  "  You  're  a  painter  and  your 
name  is  Mr.  Envy." 

"  Sir ! "  shrieks  the  painter ;  but  he 
is  addressing  himself  to  the  tails  of 
Phil's  coat,  the  superior  half  of  Mr. 
Firmin's  body  is  stretching  out  of  the 
]  window.  Now,  you  may  speak  of  a 
man  behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him. 
So  Mr.  Jarman  withdraws,  and  ad- 
dresses himself,  face  to  face,  to  some- 
body else  in  the  company.  I  dare  say 
he  abuses  that  upstart,  impudent, 
bumptious  young  doctor's  son.  Have 
I  not  own&d  that  Philip  was  often 
very  rude  (  and  to-night  he  is  in  a 
specially  bad  humor. 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the 
street,  who  is  that  who  has  just  reeled 
up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talk- 
ing in  at  Mrs.  Brandon's  window? 
Whose  blackguard  voice  and  laugh 
are  those  which  Phil  recognizes  with 
a  shudder  ?  It  is  the  voice  and  laugii 
of  our  friend,  Mr.  Hunt,  whom 
Philip  left  not  very  long  since,  near 
his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr  Street ; 
and  both  of  those  familiar  sounds 
are  more  vinous,  more  odious,  more 
impudent  than  they  were  even  two 
hours  a<;o. 

■'Holloa!  I  say!"  he  calls  out 
with  a  laugh  and  a  curse.  "  Pst ! 
Mrs.  What-d'you-call-'em  !  Hang  it ! 
don't  shut  the  window.  Let  a  fellow 
in ! "  and  as  he  looks  towards  the 
upper  window,  where  Philip's  head 
and  bust  appear  dark  before  the  light, 
Hunt  cries  out,  "  Holloa !  what 
game  's  up  now,  I  wonder '  Supper 
and  ball.  Should  n't  be  surprised." 
And  he  hiccups  a  waltz  tune,  and 
clatters  time  to  it  with  his  dirty 
boots. 

"  Mrs.    What  -  d'you  -  call  !    Mrs. 

B !  "  the  sot  then  recommences  to 

shriek  out.  "  Must  see  you  —  most 
particular  business.  Private  and 
confidential.  Hear  of  something  to 
your  advantage."  And  rap,  rap,  rap, 
he  is  now  thundering  at  the  door.  In 
the  clatter  of  twenty  voices  few  hear 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


149 


Hunt's  noise  except  Philip;  or,  if 
they  do,  only  imagine  that  another  of 
Ridley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  hall  door  there  is  talk  and 
altercation,  and  the  high  shriek  of  a 
well-known  odious  voice.  Philip 
moves  quickly  from  his  window, 
shoulders  Iriend  Jarman  at  the  studio 
door,  and  hustling  past  him  obtains, 
no  doubt,  more  good  wisiies  from  that 
ingenious  artist.  Philip  is  so  rude 
and  overbearing  that  I  really  have  a 
mind  to  depose  him  from  his  place  of 
hero  —  only,  you  see,  we  are  com- 
mitted. His  name  is  on  the  page 
overhead,  and  we  can't  take  it  down 
and  put  up  another.  The  Little  bis- 
ter is  standing  in  her  hall  by  the  just- 
opened  door,  and  remonstrating  with 
Mr.  Hunt,  who  appears  to  wish  to 
force  his  way  in. 

"  Pooh  !  shtufF,  my  dear !  If  he 's 
here  I  musht  see  him  —  particular 
business  —  get  out  of  that !  "  and  he 
reels  forward  and  against  little  Caro- 
line's shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  you  brute,  you ! "  cries 
the  little  lady.  "  Go  home,  Mr. 
Hunt ;  you  are  worse  than  you  were 
this  morning."  She  is  a  resolute  lit- 
tle woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm  little 
arm  against  this  odious  invader.  She 
has  seen  patients  in  hospital  raging 
in  fever :  she  is  not  frightened  by  a 
tipsy  man.  "La!  is  it  you,  Mr. 
Philip?  Who  ever  will  take  this 
horrid  man  f  He  ain't  fit  to  go  up 
stairs  among  the  gentlemen ;  indeed 
he  ain't." 

"  You  said  Firmin  was  here  —  and 
it  is  n't  the  father.  It 's  the  cub !  I 
want  the  Doctor.  Where 's  the  Doc- 
tor ?  "  hiccups  the  chaplain,  lurching 
against  the  wall ;  and  then  he  looks 
at  Philip  with  bloodshot  eyes,  that 
twinkle  hate.  "  Who  wantsh  you,  I 
shlike  to  know  1  Had  enough  of  you 
already  to-day.  Conceited  bnite. 
Don't  look  at  we  in  that  sortaway ! 
I  ain't  afraid  of  you  —  ain't  afraid 
anybody.  Time  was  when  I  was  a 
young  man  fight  you  as  soon  as  look 
at  you.     I  say,  Philip  ! " 

"  Go  home,   now.     Do  go  home. 


there 's  a  good  man,"  says  the  land- 
lady. 

"  I  say  !  Look  here  —  hie  —  hi ! 
Philip !  On  your  word  as  a  gentle- 
man, your  fatlier  's  not  here  ?  He  's 
a  sly  old  boots,  Brummell  Firmin  is 
—  Trinity  man  —  1  'm  not  a  'J'rinitv 
man  —  Corpus  man.  I  say,  Philip, 
give  us  yuur  hand.  Bear  no  malice! 
Look  here  —  something  very  particu- 
lar. After  dinner  —  went  into  Air 
Street  —  you  know — rouffe  (jo(/ne,  tt 
cuiikur — cleaned  out.  Cleaned  out, 
on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  and 
master  of  arts  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge.  So  was  your  father  — 
no,  he  went  out  in  medicine.  I  say, 
Philip,  hand  us  out  five  sovereigns, 
and  let 's  try  the  luck  again  !  What, 
you  won't !  It 's  mean,  I  say.  Don't 
be  mean." 

"  0,  here  's  five  shillings  !  Go  and 
have  a  cab.  Fetch  a  cab  for  him, 
Virgilio,  do !  "  cries  the  mistress  of 
the  house. 

"  That 's  not  enough,  my  dear ! " 
cries  the  chaplain,  advancing  towards 
Mrs.  Brandon,  with  such  a  leer  and 
air,  that  Philip,  half  choked  with 
passion,  runs  forward,  grips  Hunt  by 
the  collar,  and  crying  out,  "  You 
filthy  scoundrel !  as  this  is  not  my 
house,  I  may  kick  you  out  of  it !  "  — 
in  another  instant  has  run  Hunt 
through  the  passage,  hurled  him 
down  the  steps,  and  seat  him  sprawl- 
ing into  the  kennel. 

"  Row  down  below,"  says  Rose- 
bury,  placidly,  looking  from  above. 
"Personal  conflict.  InUxicated  in- 
dividual —  in  gutter.  Our  impetuous 
friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and 
glares  at  Philip.  He  is  not  hurt. 
Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobered  him. 
He  thinks,  perhaps,  Philip  is  going 
to  strike  again.  "  Hands  off.  Bas- 
tard ! "  shrieks  out  the  prostrate 
wretch. 

"O  Philip,  Philip!  He's  mad, 
he's  tipsy  !"  cries  out  the  Little  Sis- 
ter, running  into  the  street.  She 
puts  her  arms  round  Philip.  "  Don't 
mind  him,  dear,  —  he 's  mad !   Police- 


150 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


man !     The  gentleman  has  had  too 
much.     Come  in,  Philip ;  come  in  !  " 

She  took  him  into  her  little  room. 
She  was  pleased  with  the  gallantry  of 
the  boy.  She  liked  to  see  him  just 
now,  standing  over  her  enemy,  cour- 
ageous, victorious,  her  cliampion. 
"TL<a!  how  savage  he  did  look;  and 
how  brave  and  strong  you  are !  But 
the  little  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  be- 
fore such  as  you  !  "  And  she  passed 
her  little  hand  down  his  arm,  of 
which  the  muscles  were  all  in  a  quiver 
from  the  recent  skirmish. 

"  What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by 
calling  me  bastard  ?  "  said  Philip,  the 
wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about 
with  more  than  ordinary  fierceness. 

"Nonsense,  dear!  Who  minds 
anything  he  says,  that  beast  1  His 
language  is  always  horrid ;  he 's  not 
a  gentleman.  He  had  had  too  much 
this  morning  when  he  was  here. 
What  matters  what  he  says?  He 
won't  know  anything  about  it  to-mor- 
row. But  it  was  kind  of  my  Philio 
to  rescue  his  poor  little  nurse,  was  n't 
it  ?  Like  a  novel.  Come  in,  and  let 
me  make  you  some  tea.  Don't  go  to 
no  more  smoking:  you  have  had 
enough     Come  in  and  talk  to  me." 

And,  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious 
face,  yearns  to  her  little  children  from 
her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches 
him ;  she  fills  her  teapot  from  her 
singing  kettle.  She  talks  —  talks  in 
her  homely  way,  and  on  this  subject 
and  that.  It  is  a  wonder  how  she 
prattles  on,  who  is  generally  rather 
silent.  She  won't  see  Phil's  eyes, 
which  are  following  her  about  very 
Ktraugely  and  fiercely.  And  when 
again  lie  mutters,  "  What  did  he 
mean  by  .  .  . "  "  La,  my  dear,  how 
cross  you  arj ! "  she  breaks  out. 
"  It  "s  always  so  ;  you  won't  be  happy 
without  }our  cigar.  Here 's  a  che- 
root, a  beauty !  Pa  brousrht  it  home 
from  the  club.  A  China  captain 
gave  him  some.  You  must  lisiht  it 
at  the  little  end.  There !  "  And  if 
I  could  draw  the  picture  which  my 
mind  sees  of  her  lighthig  Piiil's  che- 
root for  him,  and  smiling  the  while, 


the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing 
and  wheedling  this  young  Samson, 
I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty  picture 
I  wish   Ridley   would  sketch  it  for 


CHAPTER  Xa 


DAMOCLES. 


On  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour 
so  early  that  Old  Parr  Street  was 
scarce  awake,  and  even  the  maids  who 
wash  the  broad  steps  of  the  houses  of 
the  tailore  and  medical  gentlemen  who 
inhabit  that  .  region  had  not  yet 
gone  down  on  their  knees  before  their 
respective  doors,  a  ring  was  heard  at 
Dr.  Firmin's  night-bell,  and  when  the 
door  was  ojjened  by  the  yawning  at- 
tend.mt,  a  little  person  in  a  gray  gown 
and  a  black  bonnet  made  her  appear- 
ance, handed  a  note  to  the  servant, 
and  said  the  case  was  most  urgent 
and  the  Doctor  must  come  at  once. 
Wiis  not  Lady  Humandhaw  the  noble 
person  whom  we  last  mentioned  as 
the  invalid  about  whom  the  Doctor 
and  the  nurse  had  spoken  a  few  words 
on  the  previous  evening  ?  The  Little 
Sister,  for  it  was  she,  used  the  very 
same  name  to  the  servant,  who  retired 
grumbling  to  waken  up  his  master 
and  deliver  the  note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sat  awhile  in  the 
great  gaunt  dining-room  wiiere  htmg 
the  portrait  of  the  Doctor  in  his  splen- 
did black  collar  and  cuffs,  and  con- 
templated this  master-piece  until  an 
invasion  of  housemaids  drove  her 
from  the  apartment,  when  she  took 
refuge  in  that  other  little  room  to 
which  Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait  had 
been  consigned. 

"That's  like  him  ever  so  many 
years  and  years  ajro,"  she  thinks. 
"  It  is  a  little  handsomer;  but  it  has 
his  wicked  look  that  I  used  to  think 
so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters,  both 
of  them, — they  were  ready  to  tear 
out  each  other's  eyes  for  jealousy. 
And  that 's  Mrs.  Firmin  !  Well,  I 
suppose  the  painter  have  n't  flattered 
her.    If  he  have  she  could  have  been 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


151 


no  great  things,  Mrs.  F.  could  n't." 
And  the  Doctor,  entering  softly  by  the 
opened  door  and  over  the  thiek  Tur- 
key carpet,  comes  up  to  her  noiseless, 
and  tinds  the  Little  Sister  gazing  at 
the  portrait  of  the  departed  laily. 

"  O,  it 's  you,  is  it  1  I  wonder 
whether  you  treated  her  no  better 
than  you  treated  me.  Dr.  F.  I  've  a 
notion  she  's  not  the  only  one.  She 
don't  look  happy,  poor  thing,"  says 
the  little  lady. 

"  What  is  it,  Caroline  ?  "  asks  the 
deep-voiced  doctor  ;  "  and  what  brings 
you  so  early  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  then  explains  to 
him.  "Last  night  after  he  went 
away  Hunt  came,  sure  enough.  He 
had  been  drinking.  He  was  very 
rude,  and  Philip  would  n't  bear  it. 
Philip  had  a  good  courage  of  his  own 
and  a  hot  blood.  And  Philip  thought 
Hunt  was  insulting  her,  the  Little 
Sister.  So  he  up  with  his  hand  and 
down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on  the  pavement. 
Well,  when  he  was  down  he  was  in  a 
dreadful  way,  and  he  called  Philip  a 
dreadful  name." 

"  A  name  ?  what  name  ?  "  Then 
Caroline  told  the  Doctor  the  name 
Mr.  Hunt  had  used  ;  and  if  Firmin's 
face  usually  looked  wicked,  I  dare 
say  it  did  not  seem  very  angelical 
when  he  heard  how  this  odious  name 
had  been  applied  to  his  son.  "  Can 
he  do  Philip  a  mischief?"  Caroline 
continued.  "  I  thought  I  was  bound 
to  tell  his  father.  Look  here.  Dr.  F., 
I  don't  want  to  do  my  dear  boy  a 
harm.  But  suppose  what  you  told 
me  last  night  is  n't  true,  —  as  I  don't 
tliink  you  much  mind!  —  mind  — 
saying  things  as  are  incorrect  you 
know,  when  us  women  are  in  the 
case.  But  suppose  when  you  played 
the  villain,  thinking  only  to  take  in  a 
poor  innocent  girl  of  sixteen,  it  was 
you  who  were  took  in,  and  that  I  was 
your  real  wife  after  all  ?  There  would 
be  a  punishment !  " 

"  1  should  have  an  honest  and  good 
wife,  Caroline,"  said  the  Doctor  with 
a  groan. 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not 


for  you,  but  for  my  poor  Philip,"  the 
woman  goes  on.  "  What  has  he 
done,  that  his  honest  name  should  be 
look  from  him,  —  and  his  fortune 
perhaps  ?  I  have  been  lying  broad 
awake  all  night  thinking  of  him.  Ah, 
George  Brandon  !  Why,  why  did 
you  come  to  my  poor  old  father's 
house,  and  bring  this  misery  down  on 
me,  and  on  your  child  unborn  ?  " 

"  On  myself,  the  worst  of  all,"  says 
the  Doctor. 

"  You  deserve  it.  But  it 's  us  in- 
nocent that  has  had,  or  will  have,  to 
suffer  most.  O  George  Brandon ! 
Think  of  a  poor  child,  flung  away, 
and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without 
even  so  much  as  knowing  your  real 
name!  Think  of  jour  boy,  perhaps 
brought  to  shame  and  poverty  through 
your  fault !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often 
think  of  my  wrong  f  "  says  the  Doc- 
tor. "  That  it  does  not  cause  me 
sleepless  nights,  and  hours  of  anguish  ? 
Ah  !  Caroline  !  "  and  he  looks  in  the 
glass ;  "  I  am  not  shaved,  and  it 's 
very  unbecoming,"  he  thinks  ;  that  is, 
if  1  may  daie  to  read  his  thoughts, 
as  I  do  to  report  his  unheard 
words. 

"  You  think  of  your  wrong  now  it 
may  be  found  out,  I  dare  say  !  "  says 
Caroline.  "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns 
against  30U  ?  He  is  desperate ;  mad 
for  drink  and  money  ;  has  been  in 
jail,  —  as  he  said  this  very  night  to 
me  and  my  papa.  He  '11  do  or  say 
anything.  If  you  treat  him  hard, 
and  Philip  Aare  treated  him  hard, — 
not  harder  than  served  him  right 
though,  —  he  '11  pull  the  house  down 
and  himself  under  it ;  but  he  '11  be  re- 
venged. Perhaps  he  drank  so  much 
last  night  that  he  may  have  forgot. 
But  I  fear  he  means  mischief,  and  I 
came  here  to  say  so,  and  hoping  that 
you  might  be  kep'  on  your  guard. 
Doctor  F.,  and  if  you  have  to  quarrel 
with  him,  I  don't  know  what  you 
ever  will  do,  I  am  sure,  —  no  more 
than  if  you  had  to  fight  a  chimney- 
sweep in  the  street.  I  have  been 
awake  all  night  thinking,  and  as  soon 


1j2 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


as  ever  I  saw  the  daylight,  I  deter- 
mined I  would  run  and  tell  you." 

"  When  he  called  Philip  that  name, 
did  the  boy  seem  much  disturbed  ?  " 
asked  tlie  Doctor. 

"  Yes  ;  he  referj-ed  to  it  again  and 
again,  —  thoigh  I  tried  to  coax  him 
out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind 
last  ni;,'lit,  and  I  am  sure  he  will 
think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morn- 
in ;.  Ah  yes,  Doctor !  conscience 
will  .^o  netimes  let  a  gentleman  doze  : 
but  afijr  diicovery  has  comij,  -md 
op'jna  I  your  curtains,  and  said,  '  You 
dfsireil  to  be  called  early ! '  there  's 
little  use  in  trying  to  sleep  much. 
You  look  very  much  frightened,  Doc- 
tor F.,"  the  nurse  continues.  "  You 
have  n't  suc'i  a  courage  as  Philip 
has  ;  or  as  you  had  when  you  were  a 
young  m  ui,  and  came  a  leading  poor 
girls  astray.  You  used  to  be  afraid 
of  nothing  then.  Do  you  reinemi)er 
that  fellow  on  board  the  steaml>oatin 
Scotland  in  our  wedding-trip,  and,  la ! 
I  thought  you  was  going  to  kill  him 
That  poor  little  Lord  Cinqbars  told 
me  ever  so  many  stories  then  about 
your  courage  and  shooting  people.  It 
was  n't  very  courageous,  leaving  a 
p(X)r  girl  without  even  a  name,  and 
scarce  a  guinea,  was  it  ?  But  I  ain't 
come  to  call  up  old  stories, — only  to 
warn  you.  Even  in  old  times,  when 
he  married  us,  and  I  thought  he  was 
doing  a  kindness,  I  never  could  abida 
tliis  horrible  man.  In  Scotland,  when 
you  was  away  shooting  with  your 
poor  little  lord,  the  things  Hunt  "used 
to  say  and  fooi  was  dreadful.  I  won- 
der how  ever  you,  who  were  gentle- 
men, could  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  ! 
Ah,  thit  was  a  sad  honeymcwn  of 
ours !  1  wonder  why  I  'm  a  thinking 
of  it  Tiow  f  I  suppose  it 's  from  hav- 
ing seen  the  picture  of  the  other  one, 
—  poor  lady  !  " 

"  1  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I 
w:is  so  wild  and  desperate  at  that  un- 
happy time,  I  was  scarcely  accounta- 
ble for  my  actions.  If  I  left  you,  it 
was  because  I  had  no  other  resource 
but  flight.  I  was  a  ruined,  penniless 
man,  but  for  my  marriage  with  £llea 


Ringwood.  You  don't  suppose  the 
marriage  was  happy  1  Happy  !  when 
have  I  ever  been  happy  ?  My  lot  ia 
to  be  wretched,  and  bring  wretched' 
ness  down  on  those  I  love  !  Un  you, 
on  my  father,  on  my  wife,  on  my  boy, 
—  1  am  a  doomed  man.  Ah,  that  thy 
innocent  should  suffer  for  me  ! " 
And  our  friend  looks  askance  in  the 
glass,  at  the  blue  chin,  and  hollow 
eyes  which  make  his  guilt  look  the 
more  haggard. 

"  I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Littlq 
Sister  continued,  "  1  never  knew 
there  were  papers,  or  writings,  or 
anything  but  a  ring  and  a  clergymaii', 
when  you  married  me.  But  1  've 
heard  tell  that  people  in  Scotland 
don't  want  a  clergyman  at  all ;  and  if 
they  call  themselves  man  and  wife, 
they  are  man  and  wife.  Now,  sir, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandon  certainly  did 
travel  together  in  Scotland,  —  witness 
that  mm  whom  you  were  going  to 
throw  into  the  lake  for  being  rude  to 
your  wife,  —  and  ....  La  !  Don't 
fly  out  so !  It  was  n't  me,  a  poor 
girl  of  sixteen,  who  did  wrong.  It 
was  you,  a  man  of  the  world,  who  was 
years  and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  off  his  poor 
little  victim  and  wife,  there  had  been  a 
journey  to  Scotland,  where  Lord 
Cinqbars,  then  alive,  had  sporting 
quarters.  ,  His  Lordship's  chaplain, 
Mr.  Hunt,  had  been  of  the  party, 
which  fate  very  soon  afterwards  sepa- 
rated. Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  at 
Naples.  Debt  caused  Firmin  — 
Brandon,  as  he  called  himself  then  — 
to  fly  the  country.  The  chaplain 
wande-ed  from  jail  to  jail  And  as 
for  poor  little  Caroline  Brandon,  I 
suppose  the  husband  who  had  mar- 
ried her  under  a  false  name  thou<;ht 
that  to  escape  her,  leave  her,  and  dis- 
own her  altogether  was  an  easier  and 
less  d  mgerous  plan  than  to  continue 
relations  with  her.  So  one  day,  four 
months  after  their  marriatre,  the  young 
couple  being  then  at  Dover,  Caro- 
line's husband  lia])pened  to  go  out  for 
a  walk.  But  he  .sent  away  a  port- 
manteau by  the  back  door  when  he 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


153 


went  out  for  the  walk,  and  as  Caro- 
line was  waiting  for  her  little  dinner 
some  hours  after,  the  porter  who  car- 
ried the  luggage  came  with  a  little 
note  from  her  dearest  G.  B. ;  and  it 
was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of 
regard  and  affection,  such  as  gentle- 
men put  into  little  notes  ;  but  dearest 
G.  B.  said  the  bailiffs  were  upon  him, 
and  one  of  them  had  arrived  that 
morning,  and  he  must  fly.;  and  he 
took  half  the  money  he  had,  and  left 
half  for  his  little  CaiTy.  And  he 
would  be  back  soon,  and  arrange 
matters  ;  or  tell  her  where  to  write 
and  follow  him.  And  she  was  to  take 
care  of  her  little  health,  and  to  write 
a  great  deal  to  her  Georgy.  And  she 
did  not  know  how  to  write  very  well 
then ;  but  she  did  her  best,  and  im- 
proved a  great  deal ;  for,  indeed,  she 
wrote  a  great  deal,  poor  thing.  Sheets 
and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with 
ink  and  tears.  And  tlien  tlie  money 
was  spent ;  and  the  next  money ;  and 
BO  more  came,  and  no  more  letters. 
And  she  was  alone  at  sea,  sinking, 
(iinking,  when  it  pleased  Heaven  to 
send  that  friend  who  rescued  her.  It 
is  such  a  sad,  sad  story,  that  in  fact 
I  don't  like  dwelling  on  it ;  not 
caring  to  look  upon  poor  innocent, 
trusting  creatures  in  pain. 

....  Well,  then,  when  Caroline 
exclaimed,  "  La  !  don't  fly  out  so.  Dr. 
Firmin  !  "  I  suppose  the  Doctor  had 
been  crying  out,  and  swearing  fiercely, 
at  the  recollections  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Brandon,  and  at  the  danger  which 
possibly  hung  over  that  gentleman. 
iVIarringe  ceremonies  are  ditngerons 
risks  in  jest  or  in  earnest.  You  can't 
jtretend  to  marry  even  a  poor  old  bank- 
rupt lodging-house  keeper's  daughter 
without  some  risk  of  being  brought 
subsequently  to  book.  If  you  have  a 
vulgar  wife  alive,  and  afterwards 
choose  to  leave  her  and  marry  an 
earl's  niece,  you  will  come  to  trouble, 
however  well  connected  you  are  and 
highly  placed  in  society.  If  you  have 
had  thirty  thousand  pounds  with  wife 
No.  2,  and  have  to  pay  it  back  on  a 
ludden,  the  payment  may  be  incon- 
7* 


vcnient.  You  may  be  tried  for  biga- 
my, and  sentenced,  goodness  knows 
to  what  ])unishment.  At  any  rate,  if 
the  matter  is  made  public,  and  you 
are  a  most  respectable  man,  moving  in 
the  highest  scientific  and  social  cir- 
cles, those  circles  may  be  disposed  to 
request  you  to  walk  out  of  their  cir- 
cumference. A  novelist,  I  know, 
ought  to  have  no  likes,  dislikes,  pity, 
partiality  for  his  characters  ;  but  I 
declare  1  cannot  help  feeling  a  respect- 
ful compassion  for  a  gentleman  who, 
in  consequence  of  a  youthful,  and,  I 
am  sure,  sincerely  regretted  folly,  may 
be  liable  to  lose  his  fortune,  his  place 
in  society,  and  his  considerable  prac- 
tice. Punishment  has  n't  a  right  to 
come  with  such  a  pede  claiido.  There 
ought  to  be  limitations ;  and  it  is 
shabby  and  revengeful  of  Justice  to  pre- 
sent  her  little  bill  when    it  has  been 

more  than  twenty  years  owing 

Having  had  his  talk  out  with  the  Lit- 
tle Sister,  having  a  long-past  crime 
suddenly  taken  down  from  the  shelf; 
having  a  remorse,  long  since  supposed 
to  be  dead  and  buried,  suddenly 
starting  up  in  the  most  blustering, 
boisterous,  inconvenient  manner ; 
having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing  him 
within  ;  I  can  fancy  this  most  respect- 
able physician  going  about  his  day's 
work,  and  most  sincerely  sympathize 
with  him.  Who  is  to  heal  the  physi- 
cian ?  Is  he  not  more  sick  at  heart 
than  most  of  his  patients  that  day  ? 
He  has  to  listen  to  Lady  Megrim 
cackling  for  half  an  hour  at  least,  and 
describing  her  little  ailments.  He 
has  to  listen,  and  never  once  to  dare 
to  say,  "  Confound  you,  old  chatter- 
box !  What  are  you  prating  ahout 
your  ailments  to  me,  who  am  snfler- 
ing  real  torture  whilst  I  am  smirking 
in  your  face  f  "  He  has  to  wear  the 
inspiriting  smile,  to  breathe  the  gen- 
tle joke,  to  console,  to  whisper  hope, 
to  administer  remedy ;  and  all  day, 
perhaps,  he  sees  no  one  so  utterly 
sick,  so  sad,  so  despairing,  as  himself. 
The  first  person  on  whom  he  had 
to  practise  hypocrisy  that  day  was 
his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to 


tat 


THE  ADVENTURES  OP  PHILIP. 


breakfast,  —  a  meal  of  which  son  and 
father  seldom  now  partook  in  com- 
pany. "  What  does  he  know,  and 
what  does  he  suspect  ? "  are  the 
father's  thoughts ;  but  a  lowering 
gloom  is  on  Philip's  face,  and  the 
father's  eyes  look  into  the  son's,  but 
cannot  penetrate  their  darkness. 

"  Did  yon  stay  late  last  night, 
Philip  ?  "  says  papa. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the 
«on. 

"  Pleasant  party  1 " 

"  No,  sir,  stupid.  Your  friend 
Mr.  Hunt  wanted  to  come  in.  He 
was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Bran- 
don, and  I  was  obliged  to  put  him 
out  of  the  door.  He  was  dreadfully 
violent  and  abusive. 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Fiercely,  sir,  and  called  names." 

I  dare  say  Philip's  heart  beat  so 
when  he  said  these  last  words,  that 
they  were  inaudible :  at  all   events, 
Philip's  father  did  not  appear  to  pay 
much  attention  to  the  words,  for  he 
'Was  busy  reading  the  Morning  Post, 
ftnd  behind  that  sheet  of  fashionable 
Hews     hid    whatever    expression    of 
agony  there    might  be  on  his   face. 
Philip    afterwards   told    his    present 
biographer  of  tliis  breakfast  meeting 
and  dreary  tete-a-tete.     "  I  burned  to 
ask   what   was   the  meaning  of  that  | 
scoundrel's  words  of  the  past  night,"  J 
Philip  said  to  his  biographer  ;  "  but  I  I 
did  not    dare,   somehow.     You   see, 
Pendennis,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  saj' 
j)oint-blank  to  your  father,  '  Sir,  are 
you  a  confirmed  scoundrel,  or  are  you 
not  ?     Is    it  possible  that  you  have 
made  a  d<iul)le  marriage,  as  yonder 
other  rascal  hinted  ;  and  that  my  o\vn 
legitimacy  and  my  mother's  fair  fame, 
as  well  as  poor,  harmless   Caroline's  | 
honor  and   happiness,  have  been  de- 
stroyed by  your  crime  ? '     But  I  had 
lain  awake  all  night  thinking  about 
that   scoundrel    Hunt's    words,    and  ! 
whether     there    was    any    meaning  ! 
beyond     drunken     malice    in    what  ' 
he   said."     So   we    find    that     three ' 
people  had  passed  a  bad  night  in  con-  [ 
sequence  of  Mr.  Firmin's  evil  behav-  i 


!  ior  of  five-and-twenty  years  backt 
'  which  surely  was  a  most  unreasonable 
punishment  for  a  sin  of  such  old  date. 
I  wish,  dearly  beloved  brother  sinners, 
I  we  could  take  all  the  punishment  for 
•  our  individual  crimes  on  our  indi- 
vidual shoulders  :  but  we  drag  them 
all  down  with  us,  —  that  is  the  fact ; 
and  when  Macheath  is  condemned  to 
hang,  it  is  Polly  and  Lucy  who  have 
to  weep  and  suffer  and  wear  piteous 
mourning  in  their  hearts  long  after 
the  dare-devil  rogue  has  jumped  oflF 
the  Tyburn  ladder. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  word," 
said  Philip,  recounting  the  meeting 
to  his  friend  ;  "  not  a  word,  at  least, 
regarding  the  matter  both  of  us  had 
on  our  hearts.  But  about  fashion, 
parties,  politics,  he  discoursed  much 
more  freely  than  was  usual  with  him. 
He  said  I  might  have  had  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  seat  for  Whipham  but  for  my 
unfortunate  politics.  What  made  a 
Radical  of  me,  he  asked,  who  was 
naturally  one  of  the  most  haughty  of 
men  ? "  ("  and  that,  I  think,  perhaps  I 
am,"  says  Phil,  "  and  a  good  many 
liberal  fellows  are.")  "I  should  calm 
down,  he  was  sure,  —  I  should  calm 
down,  and  be  of  the  politics  des 
homines  dii  monde." 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father, 
"  Sir,  it  is  seeing  you  cringe  before 
great  ones  that  has  set  my  own  back 
up."  There  were  countless  points 
about  which  father  and  son  could  not 
speak  ;  and  an  invisible,  unexpressed, 
perfectly  unintelligible  mistrust  al- 
ways was  present  when  those  two 
were  tete-a-tete. 

Their  meal  was  scarce  ended  when 
entered  to  them  Mr.  Hunt,  with  his 
hat  on.  I  was  not  present  at  the 
time,  and  cannot  speak  as  a  cer- 
tainty ;  but  I  should  think  at  his 
ominous  appearance  Philip  may  have 
turned  red  and  his  father  pale. 
"  Now  is  the  time,"  both,  I  dare  say, 
thought ;  and  the  Doctor  remembered 
his  stormy  young  days  of  foreign 
gambling,  intrigue,  and  duel,  when 
he  was  put  on  his  ground  before  his 
adversary,   and  bidden,  at  a   givea 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


155 


signal,  to  fire.  One,  two,  three ! 
Each  man's  liand  was  armed  with 
malice  and  murder.  Philip  had 
plenty  of  pluck  for  his  part,  but  I 
should  think  on  such  an  occasion 
might  be  a  little  nervous  and  flut- 
tered, whereas  his  father's  eye  was 
keen,  and  his  aim  rapid  and  steady. 

"  You  and  Philip  had  a  ditterence 
last  night,  Philip  tells  me,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  Yes,  and  I  promised  he  should 
pay  me,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"  And  I  said  I  should  desire  no  bet- 
ter," says  Mr.  Phil. 

"  He  struck  his  senior,  his  father's 
friend  —  a  sick  man,  a  clergyman," 
gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  you  to  repeat  what  you  did 
last  night,  I  should  repeat  what  I 
did,"  said  Phil.  "  You  insulted  a 
good  woman." 

"  It 's  a  lie,  sir,"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a 
lady  in  her  own  house,  and  1  turned 
you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  I  say  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir ! " 
screams  Hunt,  with  a  stamp  on  the 
table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie, 
or  otherwise,  is  perfectly  immaterial 
to  me.  But  whenever  you  insult  Mrs. 
Brandon,  or  any  harmless  woman  in 
my  presence,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
chastise  you,"  cries  Philip  of  the  red 
mustaches,  curling  them  with  much 
dignity. 

"  You  hear  him,  Firmin  ?  "  says  the 
parson. 

"  Faith,  I  do.  Hunt !  "  says  the 
physician ;  "  and  I  think  he  means 
what  he  says,  too." 

"  Oh  !  you  take  that  line,  do  you  ?  " 
cries  Hunt  of  the  dirty  hands,  the 
dirty  teeth,  the  dirty  neckcloth. 

"  I  take  what  you  call  that  line ; 
and  whenever  a  rudeness  is  offered  to 
that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's 
hearing,  I  shall  be  astonished  if  he 
does  not  resent  it,"  says  the  Doctor. 
"  Thank  you,  Philip ! ''' 

The  father's  resolute  speech  and 
behavior  gave  Philip  great  momentary 
comfort.     Hunt's  words  of  the  night 


before  had  been  occupying  the  young 
man's  thoughts.  Had  Firmin  been 
criminal,  he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"  You  talk  this  way  in  presence  of 
your  sou  ?  You  have  been  talking 
over  the  matter  together  before  ? " 
asks  Hunt. 

"  We  have  been  talking  over  the 
matter  before,  —  yes.  We  were  en- 
gaged on  it  when  you  came  in  to 
breakfast,"  says  the  Doctor  "  Shall 
we  go  on  with  the  conversation  where 
we  left  it  off?" 

"  Well,  do,  —  that  is,  if  you  dare," 
said  the  clergyman,  somewhat  as- 
tonished. 

"Philip,  my  dear,  it  is  ill  for  a 
man  to  hide  his  head  before  his  own 
son ;  but  if  I  am  ta  speak,  —  and 
speak  I  must  one  day  or  the  other,  — 
why  not  now  ?  " 

"  Why  at  all,  Firmin  ?  "  asks  the 
clergyman,  astonished  at  the  Other's 
rather  sudden  resolve. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  am  sick  and 
tired  of  you,  Mr.  Tuf'ton  Hunt," 
cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty 
manner,  "  of  you  and  your  presence 
in  my  house;  your  blackguard  be- 
havior and  your  rascal  extortions,  — 
because  you  will  force  me  to  speak 
one  day  or  the  other,  —  and  now, 
Philip,  if  you  like,  shall  be  the  day." 

"  Hang  it,  I  say  !  Stop  a  bit !  " 
cries  the  clergyman. 

"I  understand  you  want  some 
more  money  from  me." 

"  I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  would  pay 
him  to-day,  and  that  was  what  made 
me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and,  perhaps, 
I  took  a  little  too  much.  You  sec 
my  mind  was  out  of  order;  and 
what 's  the  use  of  telling  a  story  that 
is  no  good  to  any  one,  Firmin,  — 
least  of  all  to  you,"  cries  the  parson, 
darkly. 

"  Because,  you  ruffian,  I  '11  bear 
with  you  no  more,"  cries  the  Doctor, 
the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  as 
he  looks  fiercely  at  his  dirty  ad- 
versary. "In  the  last  nine  months, 
Philip,  this  man  has  had  nine  hun- 
dred pounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad. 


156 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


so  bad,  upon  my  honor,  now,"  grum- 
bles the  parson. 

"  To-morrow  he  will  want  more ; 
and  the  next  day  more ;  and  the  next 
day  more ;  and,  in  fine,  I  won't  live 
•with  this  accursed  man  of  the  sea 
round  my  uecL  You  shall  have  the 
story ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  shall  sit  by  and 
witness  ajjainst  his  own  crime  and 
mine.  I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cam- 
bridj^e,  when  I  was  a  young  man.  I 
had  qaurrelled  with  my  fother,  lived 
with  a  dissipated  set,  and  beyond  my 
means;  and  had  had  my  debts  paid 
so  often  by  your  grandfather,  that  I 
was  afraid  to  ask  for  more.  He  was 
stern  to  rae ;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him. 
I  own  my  fault  Mr.  Hunt  can  bear 
witness  to  what  I  say. 

"  I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under 
a  false  name.     You  know  the  name." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the 
name,"  Philip  said,  thinking  he  liked 
his  father  better  now  than  he  had  ever 
liked  him  in  his  life,  and  sighing, 
"Ah,  if  he  had  always  been  frank 
and  true  with  me !  " 

"I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an 
obscure  family."  (If  Dr.  Firmin  had 
a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur 
and  importance,  you  see  I  cannot  help 
it,  —  and  he  was  long  held  to  be  such 
a  respectable  man.)  "And  there  I 
found  a  young  girl,  —  one  of  the  most 
innocent  beings  that  ever  a  man 
played  with  and  betra3'ed.  Betrayed, 
I  own  it,  Heaven  forgive  me !  The 
crime  has  been  the  shame  of  my  life, 
and  darkened  my  whole  career  with 
misery.  I  got  a  man  worse  than  my- 
self, if  that  could  l»e.  I  got  Hunt  for 
a  few  pounds,  which  he  owed  me,  to 
make  a  sham  marriage  between  me 
and  poor  Caroline.  My  money  was 
soon  gone.  My  creditors  were  after 
rae.  I  fled  the  country,  and  I  left 
her." 

"  A  sham  marriage !  a  sham  mar- 
riage!" cries  the  cler<ryman.  "Did 
n't  you  make  me  perform  it  by  hold- 
ing a  pistol  to  my  throat  ?  A  fellow 
won't  risk  transportation  ibr  nothing. 
But  I  owed  him  money  for  cards,  and 
he  had  my  bill,  and  he  said  he  would 


let  me  off,  and  that 's  why  I  helpea 
him.  Never  mind.  I  am  out  of  the 
business  now,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin, 
and  you  are  in  it.  I  have  read  the 
Act,  sir.  The  clergyman  who  per- 
forms the  marriage  is  liable  to  pun- 
ishment, if  informed  against  within 
three  years,  and  it 's  twenty  years  or 
more.  But  you,  Mr.  Brummell  Fir- 
min, —  your  case  is  different ;  and 
you,  my  young  gentleman,  with  the 
fiery  whiskers,  who  strike  down  old 
men  of  a  night,  —  you  may  find  some 
of  us  know  how  to  revenge  ourselves, 
though  we  are  down."  And  with 
this.  Hunt  rushed  to  his  greasy  hat, 
and  quitted  the  house,  discharging 
imprecations  at  his  hosts  as  he  passed 
through  the  hall. 

Son  and  father  sat  aAvhile  silent, 
after  the  departure  of  their  common 
enemy.     At  last  the  father  spoke. 

"  This  is  the  sword  that  has  always 
been  hanging  over  my  head,  and  it  is 
now  falling,  Philip." 

"  What  can  the  man  do?  Is  the 
first  marriage  a  good  marriage  1 " 
asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"  It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to 
all  intents  and  purposes.  You  may 
suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  learn  the 
law  about  that.  Your  legitimacy  is 
safe,  sure  enough.  But  that  man  can 
ruin  me,  or  nearly  so.  He  will  try 
to-morrow,  if  not  to-day.  As  long  as 
you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea,  he 
will  take  it  to  the  gambling-house.  I 
had  the  mania  on  me  myself  onc& 
My  poor  father  quarrelled  with  me  in 
consequence,  and  died  without  seeing 
me.  I  married  your  mother  — 
Heaven  help  her,  poor  soul !  and  for- 
give me  for  being  but  a  harsh  hus- 
band to  her  —  with  a  view  of  mend- 
ing my  shattered  fortunes.  I  wished 
she  had  been  more  happy,  poor  thing. 
But  do  not  blame  me  utterly,  Philip. 
I  was  desperate,  and  she  wished  for 
the  marriage  so  much!  I  had  good 
j  looks  and  high  spirits  in  those  days. 
i  People  said  so."  (And  here  he 
j  glances  obliquely  at  his  own  hand- 
'  some  portrait. )  "  Now  I  am  a  wreck, 
a  wreck ! " 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


157 


■-'  "I  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  an- 
noy you ;  but  how  can  it  ruin  you  ^  " 
asked  Philip. 

"  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as 
a  family  physician  ?  The  practice  is 
not  now  what  it  was,  between  our- 
selves, Philip,  and  the  expenses 
{greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have 
made  unlucky  speculations.  If  you 
count  upon  much  increase  of  wealth 
from  me,  my  boy,  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed ;  though  you  were  never  mer- 
cenary, no,  never.  But  the  story 
bruited  about  by  this  rascal,  of  a  pliy- 
sician  of  eminence  engaged  in  two 
marriages,  do  you  suppose  my  rivals 
won't  hear  it,  and  take  advantage  of 
it,  —  my  patients  hear  it,  and  avoid 
me  ? " 

"  Make  terms  with  the  man  at  once, 
then,  sir,  and  silence  him." 

"  To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is 
impossible.  My  purse  is  always  there 
open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into 
when  he  loses,  No  man  can  with- 
stand such  a  temptation.  I  am  glad 
you  have  never  fallen  into  it.  1  have 
quarrelled  with  you  sometimes  for  liv- 
ing with  people  below  your  rank  : 
perhaps  you  were  right,  and  I  was 
wrong.  I  have  liked,  always  did,  I 
don't  disguise  it,  to  live -with  persons 
of  station.  And  these,  when  I  was 
at  the  University,  taught  me  play  and 
extravagance ;  and  in  the  world 
have  n't  helped  me  much.  Who 
would  1  Who  would  ? "  and  the 
Doctor  relapsed  into  meditation. 

A  little  catastro|)he  presently  oc- 
curred, after  which  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
told  me  the  substance  of  this  story. 
He  described  his  father's  long  acqui- 
escence in  Hunt's  demands,  and  sud- 
den resistance  to  them,  and  was  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  the  change.  I  did 
not  tell  my  friend  in  express  terms, 
but  I  fancied  I  could  account  for  the 
change  of  behavior.  Dr.  Firmin,  in 
his  interviews  with  Caroline,  had  had 
his  mind  set  at  rest  about  one  part  of 
his  danirer.  The  Doctor  need  no 
longer  fear  the  charge  of  a  double 
marriage.  The  Little  Sister  resigned 
her  claims  past,  present,  future. 


If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be 
hung,  I  wonder  is  it  a  matter  of  com- 
fort to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand 
the  day  of  the  operation  1  Hunt 
would  take  his  revenge.  When  and 
how  ■?  Dr.  Firmin  asked  himself. 
Xay,  possibly,  you  will  have  to  learn 
that  this  eminent  practitioner  walked 
about  with  more  than  danger  hang- 
ing imminent  over  him.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  rope  :  perhaps  it  was  a  sword : 
some  weapon  of  execution,  at  any 
rate,  as  we  frequently  may  see.  A 
day  passes  :  no  assassin  darts  at  the 
Doctor  as  he  threads  the  dim  opera- 
colonnade  passage  on  his  way  to  his 
club.  A  week  goes  by  :  no  stiletto  is 
plunged  into  his  well-wadded  breast 
as  lie  steps  from  his  carriage  at  some 
noble  patient's  door.  Philip  says  he 
never  knew  his  father  more  pleasant, 
easy,  good-humored,  and  affable  than 
during  this  period,  when  he  must 
have  felt  that  a  danger  was  hanging 
over  him  of  which  his  son  at  this  time 
had  no  idea.  I  dined  in  Old  Parr 
Street  once  in  this  memorable  period 
(memorable  it  seemed  to  me  from  im- 
mediately subsequent  events).  Kever 
was  the  dinner  better  served  :  the 
wine  more  excellent :  the  guests  and 
conversation  more  gravely  respectable 
than  at  this  entertainment ;  and  my 
neighbor  remarked  with  pleasure  how 
the  father  and  son  seemed  to  be  on 
much  better  terms  than  ordinary. 
The  Doctor  addressed  Philip  pointed- 
ly once  or  twice ;  alluded  to  liis  for- 
eign travels,  spoke  of  his  mother's 
family,  —  it  was  most  gratifying  to 
see  the  pair  together.  Day  after  day 
passes'  so.  The  enemy  has  disaj)- 
peared.  At  least,  the  lining  of  his 
dirty  hat  is  no  longer  visible  on  the 
broad  marble  table  of  Dr.  Firniin's 
hall. 

But  one  day  —  it  may  be  ten  days 
after  the  quarrel  —  a  little  messenger 
comes  to  Philip,  and  says,  "  Philip 
dear,  I  am  sure  there  is  something 
wrong  ;  that  horrible  Hunt  has  been 
here  with  a  very  (piiet,  soft-s[  oken 
old  gentleman,  and  they  have  been 
going  on  with  my  poor  pa  about  my 


15^ 


THE  ADVENTTJBES  OF  PHILIP. 


wronc^s  and  his,  —  his,  indeed !  —  and 
tliey  have  worked  him  up  to  believe 
that  somebody  has  cheated  his  daugh- 
ter out  of  a  great  fortune ;  anci  who 
can  that  somebody  be  but  your  father  ? 
And  whenever  they  see  me  coming, 
papa  and  that  horrid  Hunt  go  off  to 
the  '  Admiral  Byng ' :  and  one  night 
when  pa  came  home  he  said,  '  Bless 
you,  bless  you,  my  poor,  innocent, 
injured  child ;  and  blessed  you  will 
be,  mark  a  fond  father's  words  ! ' 
They  are  scheming  something  against 
Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr.  Bond 
the  soft-spoken  old  gentleman's  name 
is  :  and  twice  there  has  been  a  Mr. 
Walls  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at 
our  house." 

"  Mr.  Bond  ^  —  Mr.  Walls  ?  —  A 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Bond  was 
Uncle  Twysden's  attorney.  An  old 
gentleman,  with  a  bald  head,  and  one 
eye  bigger  than  the  other  ?  " 

"  VVell,  this  old  man  has  one 
smaller  than  the  other,  I  do  think," 
says  Caroline.  "  First  man  who 
came  was   Mr.   Walls,  —  a  rattling 

f'oung  fashionable  chap,  always 
aughing,  talking  about  theatres,  op- 
eras, everything,  —  came  home  from 
the  '  Byng '  along  with  pa  and  his 
new  friend,  —  oh  !  I  do  hate  him, 
that  man,  that  Hunt  !  —  then  he 
brought  the  old  man,  this  Mr.  Bond. 
What  are  they  scheming  against  you, 
Philip  ?  I  tell  you  this  matter  is  all 
about  you  and  your  father." 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor 
mother's  lifetime,  Philip  remembered 
an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's 
part,  who  called  Uncle  Twysden  a 
swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr. 
Bond  a  scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be 
hung,  for  intc'rferin;r  in  some  way  in 
the  management  of  a  part  of  the  prop- 
erty which  .Mrs.  Iwy^den  and  her 
sister  inherited  from  their  own  moth- 
er. That  quarrel  had  l)cen  made  up, 
as  such  quarrels  are.  The  brothers- 
in-law  hail  continued  to  mistrust  each 
other  ;  but  there  was  no  reason  why 
the  feud  should  descend  to  the  chil- 
dren ;  and  Philip  and  his  aunt,  and 
one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were  on 


good  terms  together.  Philip's  nncle's 
lawyers  engaged  with  his  father's 
debtor  and  enemy  against  Dr.  Fir- 
min  :  the  alliance  boded  no  good 

"  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  think, 
Philip,"  said  the  father.  "You  are 
fond  of  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  forev —  " 

"  Forever,  of  course  !  At  least 
until  we  change  our  mind,  or  one 
of  us  grows  tired,  or  finds  a  better 
mate !  ' 

"  Ah,  sir  ! "  cries  Philip,  but  sud- 
denly stops  in  his  remonstrance. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say, 
Philip,  and  why  do  you  pause  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I 
might  without  offending,  that  I  think 
you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know 
two  who  have  been  very  faithful  to 
you." 

"  And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them. 
Yes  ;  and  my  remorse,  Philip,  my 
remorse  !  "  says  his  father  in  his 
deepest  tragedy  voice,  clutching  his 
hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believe  beat 
very  coolly.  But,  psha  !  why  am  I, 
Philip's  biographer,  going  out  of  the 
way  to  abuse  Philip's  papa  1  Is  not 
the  threat  of  bigamy  and  exposure 
enough  to  disturb  any  man's  equa- 
nimity ?  I-  say  again,  suppose  there 
is  another  sword  —  a  rope,  if  you  will 
so  call  it  —  hanging  over  the  head  of 
oar  Damodes  of  Old  Parr  Street  ? 
.  .  .  .  Howbeit,  the  father  and  the 
.son  met  and  parted  in  these  days  with 
unusual  gentleness  and  cordiality. 
And  these  were  the  last  days  in  which 
they  were  to  meet  together.  Nor 
could  Philip  recall  without  satisfac- 
tion, afterwards,  that  the  hand  which 
he  took  was  pressed  and  given  with  a 
real  kindness  and  cordiality. 

Why  were  these  the  last  days  son 
and  father  were  to  pass  together  ? 
Dr.  Firmin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a 
very  tolerably  prosperous  gentleman. 
He  and  his  father  parted  good  friends, 
and  it  is  the  biographer's  business  to 
narrate  how  and  wherefore.  When 
Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs. 
Bond  and  Selby,  his  uncle  Twysden's 
attorneys,   were  suddenly  interested 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


159 


about  Mr.  Brandon  and  his  affairs, 
the  father  instantly  guessed,  though 
the  son  was  too  simple  as  yet  to 
understand,  how  it  was  that  these 
gentlemen  interfered.  If  Mr.  Bran- 
don-Firmin's  marriage  with  Miss 
Ringwood  was  null,  her  son  was  ille- 
gitimate, and  her  fortune  went  to  her 
sister.  Painful  as  such  a  duty  might 
be  to  such  tender-hearted  people  as 
our  Twysden  acquaintances  to  de- 
prive a  dear  nephew  of  his  fortune, 
yet,  after  all,  duty  is  duty,  and  a 
parent  must  sacrifice  everything  for 
justice  and  his  own  children.  "  Had 
I  been  in  such  a  case,"  Talbot  Twys- 
den subsequently  and  repeatedly  de- 
clared, "  I  should  never  have  been 
easy  a  moment  if  I  thought  I  pos- 
sessed wrongfully  a  beloved  nephew's 
property.  I  could  not  have  slept  in 
peace;  I  could  not  have  shown 
my  face  at  my  own  club,  or  to  my 
own  conscience,  had  I  the  weight  of 
such  an  injustice  on  my  mind."  In 
a  word,  when  he  found  that  there 
was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's 
share  of  the  property  to  his  own, 
Twysden  saw  clearly  that  his  duty 
was  to  stand  by  his  own  wife  and 
children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot 
Twysden,  Esq.,  acted,  was  brought  to 
him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in 
dingy  black,  who,  after  a  long  inter- 
view with  him,  accompanied  him  to 
his  lawyer,  Mr.  Bond,  before  men- 
tioned. Here,  in  South  Square, 
Grey's  Inn,  the  three  gentlemen  held 
a  consultation,  of  which  the  results 
began  quickly  to  show  themselves. 
Messrs.  Bond  and  Solby  had  an  ex- 
ceedingly lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and 
intelligent  confidential  clerk,  who 
combined  business  and  pleasure  with 
the  utmost  affability,  and  was  ac- 
quainted with  a  thousand  queer 
things,  and  queer  histories  about 
queer  people  in  this  town  ;  who  lent 
money ;  who  wanted  money ;  who 
Wiis  in  debt :  and  who  was  outrunning 
the  constable  ;  whose  diamonds  were 
in  pawn ;  whose  estates  were  ov*r- 
mortgaged ;    who  was  over-building 


himself;  who  was  casting  eyes  of 
longing  at  what  pretty  opera  dancer, 
—  about  races,  fights,  bill-brokers, 
(juicquid  agunt  homines.  This  Tom 
Walls  had  a  deal  of  information,  and 
imparted  it  so  as  to  make  you  die  of 
laughing. 

The  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  brought 
this  jolly  fellow  first  to  the  "  Admiral 
Byng,"  where  his  amiability  won  all 
hearts  at  the  club.  At  the  "  Byng," 
it  was  not  very  difficult  to  gain'  Cap- 
tain Gann's  easy  confidence.  And 
this  old  man  was,  in  the  course  of  a 
very  trifling  consumption  of  rum-and- 
water,  brought  to  see  that  his  daugh- 
ter had  been  the  object  of  a  very 
wicked  conspiracy,  and  was  the  right- 
ful and  most  injured  wife  of  a  man 
who  ought  to  declare  her  fair  fame 
before  the  world,  and  put  her  in  pos- 
session of  a  portion  of  his  great  fortune. 

A  great  fortune  ?  How  great  a 
fortune  ?  Was  it  three  hundred 
thousand,  say  ?  Those  doctors,  many 
of  them,  had  fifteen  thousand  a  year. 
Mr.  Walls  (who perhaps  knewbetter) 
was  not  at  liberty  to  say  what  the 
fortune  was  :  but  it  was  a  shame  that 
Mrs.  Brandon  was  kept  out  of  her 
rights,  that  was  clear. 

Old  Gann's  excitement,  when  this 
matter  was  first  broached  to  him 
(under  vows  of  profound  secrecy)  was 
so  intense  that  his  old  reason  tottered 
on  its  rickety  old  throne.  He  well- 
nigh  burst  with  longing  to  speak 
upon  this  mystery.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Oves,  the  esteemed  landlord  and  lady 
of  the  "  Byng,"  never  saw  him  so 
excited.  He  laad  a  great  opinion  of 
the  judgment  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Rid- 
ley ;  in  fact,  he  must  have  gone  to 
Bedlam,  unless  he  had  talked  to 
somebody  on  this  most  nefarious 
transaction,  which  might  make  the 
blood  of  every  Briton  curdle  with 
horror,  —  as  he  was  free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much 
cooler  temperament,  and  altogether  a 
more  cautious  person.  The  Doctor 
rich  ?  He  wished  to  tell  no  secrets, 
nor  to  meddle  in  no  gcntlen:an's 
affairs :  but  he  have  heard  very  differ' 


160 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


ent  statements  regarding  Dr.  Firmin's 
affairs. 

When  dark  hints  about  treason, 
wicked  desertion,  rights  denied,  "  and 
a  great  fortune  which  you  are  kep' 
out  of,  my  poor  Caroline,  by  a  ras- 
cally wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you 
are';  and  I  always  mistrusted  him, 
from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and  said 
to  your  mother,  '  Emily,  that  Bran- 
don is  a  bad  fellow,  Brandon  is  '  ; 
and  bitterly,  bitterly  I  've  rued  ever 
receiving  him  under  my  roof." 
Whe:i  speeches  of  this  nature  were 
made  to  Mrs.  Caroline,  strange  to 
s.iy,  the  little  lady  made  light  of 
them.  "  O,  nonsense,  Pa  !  Don't 
be  bringing  that  sad  old  story  up 
again.  I  have  suffered  enough  from 
it  already.  If  Mr.  F.  left  me,  he 
was  n't  tiie  only  one  who  flung  me 
away ;  and  I  have  been  able  to  live, 
thank  mercy,  through  it  all." 

This  was  a  hard  hit,  and  not  to  be 
parried.  The  truth  is,  that  when 
poor  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  hus- 
band, had  come  back,  in  wretched- 
ness, to  her  father's  door,  the  man, 
and  the  wife  who  then  ruled  him,  had 
thought  fit  to  thrust  her  away.  And 
she  had  forgiven  tliem :  and  had  been 
enabled  to  heap  a  rare  quantity  of 
coals  on  that  old  gentleman's  head. 

When  the  captain  remarked  his 
daughter's  indifference  and  unwilling- 
ness to  reopen  this  painful  question  of 
her  sham  marriage  with  Firmin,  his 
wrath  was  moved,  and  his  suspicion 
excited.  "Ha!"  says  he,  "have 
this  man  been  a  tampering  with  you 
again  ? " 

"  Nonsense,  Pa !  "  once  more  says 
Caroline.  "  I  tell  you,  it  is  this  fine- 
talking  lawyers'  clerk  has  been  tam- 
pering with  jiou.  You  're  made  a  tool 
of.  Pa  !  and  you  've  been  made  a  tool 
of  all  your  life  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  upon  my  honor,  my 
good  madam,"  interposes  Mr.  Walls. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  sir !  I  don't 
want  any  lawyers'  clerks  to  meddb  in 
my  business  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon, 
very  briskly.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you're  come  about.     I  don't  want  to 


know,  and  I  'm  most  certain  it  is  for 
no  good." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  ill  success  of 
his  ambassador  that  brought  Mr. 
Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  Street; 
and  a  more  kind,  fatherly,  little  man 
never  looked  than  Mr.  Bond,  although 
he  may  have  had  one  eye  smaller 
than  the  other.  "  What  is  this,  my 
dear  madam,  I  hear  from  my  confi- 
dential clerk,  Mr.  Walls  1 "  he  asked 
of  the  Little  Sister.  "  You  refuse  to 
give  him  your  confidence  because  he 
is  only  a  clerk  i  I  wonder  whether 
you  will  accord  it  to  me  as  a  princi- 
pal ?  " 

"She  may,  sir,  she  may, — every 
confidence  !  "  says  the  Captain,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin 
waistcoat  which  all  his  friends  so  long 
admired  on  him.  "  She  might  have 
spoken  to  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man. 
I  am.  I  have  children  at  home,  JVIrs. 
Brandon,  as  old  as  you  are,"  says  the 
benevolent  Bond.  "  I  would  have 
justice  done  them,  and  for  you  too." 

"  You  're  very  good  to  take  so 
much  trouble  about  me  all  of  a  sud- 
den, to  be  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Brandon, 
demurely.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  do 
it  for  nothing." 

"  I  should  not  require  much  fee  to 
help  a  good  woman  to  her  rights ; 
and  a  lady  1  don't  think  needs  much 
persuasion  to  be  helped  to  her  advan- 
tage," remarks  Mr.  Boiid. 

"  That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  you  no  harm, 
and  help  you  possibly  to  a  name,  to  a 
fortune,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world, 
I  don't  think  you  need  be  frightened. 
I  don't  look  very  wicked  or  very  art- 
ful, do  1 1 " 

"  Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I  've 
learned  as  much  as  that  about  you 
gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  You  have  been  wronged  by  one 
man,  and  doubt  all." 

"Not  all.     Some,  sir!" 

"  Dou])t  about  me  if  I  can  by  any 
possibility  injure  yon.  But  how  and 
why  should  I  ?  Your  good  f  itlier 
knows  what  has  brought  me  here.     I 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


161 


have  no  secret  from  him.  Have  I, 
Mr.  Gann,  or  Captain  Gaiin,  as  I  have 
heard  you  addressed  ?  " 

"  Mr.,  sir,  —  plain  Mr.  — No,  sir; 
your  conduct  have  been  most  open, 
honorable,  and  hke  a  yentlenian. 
Neither  would  you,  sir,  do  aught  to 
disparage  Mrs.  Brandon ;  neither 
would  I,  her  father.  Noways,  I 
think,  would  a  parent  do  harm  to  his 
own  child.  May  I  offer  you  any  re- 
freshment, sir  ^  "  andashaky,  a  dingy, 
but  a  hospitable  hand  is  laid  u]ion 
the  glossy  cupboard,  in  which  Mrs. 
Brandon  keeps  her  modest  little  store 
of  strong  waters. 

"  Not  one  drop,  thank  you  !  You 
trust  me,  I  think,  more  than  Mrs. 
Firm  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Mrs. 
Brandon,  is  disposed  to  do." 

At  the  utterance  of  tliat  monosyl- 
lable Firm  Caroline  became  so  white, 
and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor 
stopped,  rather  alarmed  at  the  effect 
of  his  word —  his  word  !  —  his  syllable 
of  a  word. 

The  old  lawyer  recovered  himself 
with  much  grace. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said : 
"  I  know  your  wrongs ;  I  know  your 
most  melancholy  history;  I  know 
your  name,  and  was  going  to  use  it, 
but  it  seemed  to  renew  painful  recol- 
lections to  you,  which  I  would  not 
needlessly  recall." 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffv 
pocket-handkerchief,  wiped  two  red 
eyes  and  a  shirt-front,  and  winked  at 
the  attorney,  and  gasped  in  a  pathetic 
manner. 

"  You  know  my  story  and  name, 
sir,  who  are  a  stranger  to  me.  Have 
you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about 
me  and  my  affairs,  Pa'?  "  asks  Caro- 
line, with  some  asperity.  "  Have  you 
told  him  that  my  ma  never  gave  me  a 
word  of  kindness,  —  that  I  toiled  for 
you  and  her  like  a  servant,  —  and 
when  I  came  back  to  you,  after  being 
deceived  and  deserted,  that  you  and 
ma  shut  the  door  in  my  face  ?  You 
did  !  you  did  !  I  forgive  you  ;  but  a 
hundi-ed  thousand  billion  years  cun't 
mend  that  injury,  father,  while   you 


broke  a  poor  child's  heart  with  it  that 
day  !  My  pa  has  told  you  all  this, 
Mr.  What's-your-name  ?  I  'm  s'prised 
he  did  n't  find  something  pleasauter 
to  talk  about,  I  'm  sure  !  " 

"  My  love  ! "  interposed  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  Pretty  love !  to  go  and  tell  a 
strangtr  in  a  public-house,  and  ever 
so  many  there  besides,  I  suppose, 
your  daughter's  misfortunes,  Pa. 
Pretty  love  !  That 's  what  1  've  had 
from  you  !  " 

"  Not  a  soul,  on  the  honor  of  a  gen- 
tleman, except  me  and  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Then  what  do  you  come  to  talk 
about  me  at  ail  for  ?  and  what  scheme 
on  hearth  are  you  driving  at  ?  and 
what  brings  this  old  man  here  ?  " 
cries  the  landlady  of  Thornhaugh 
Street,  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Shall  1  tell  you  frankly,  my  good 
lady  '.'  I  called  you  Mrs.  Firmin  now, 
because,  on  my  honor  and  word,  I 
believe  such  to  be  your  rightful  name, 
—  because  you  are  the  lawful  wife  of 
George  Brand  Firmin.  If  such  be 
your  lawful  name,  others  bear  it  who 
have  no  right  to  bear  it,  —  and  in- 
herit property  to  which  tliey  can  lay 
no  just  claim.  In  the  year  1827,  you, 
Caroline  (lann,  a  child  of  sixteen, 
were  married  by  a  clergyman  whom 
you  know,  to  George  Brand  P^irmin, 
calling  himself  George  Brandon.  He 
was  guilty  of  deceiving  you  ;  but  you 
were  guilty  of  no  deceit.  He  was  a 
hardened  and  wily  man ,  but  you 
were  an  innocent  child  out  of  a 
schoolroom.  And  though  he  thought 
the  marriage  was  not  binding  upon 
him,  binding  it  is  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment and  judges'  decision  ,  and  you 
are  as  assuredly  George  i"irmin's  wife, 
madam,  as  Mrs.  Bond  is  mine  ! " 

"  You  have  been  cruelly  injured, 
Caroline,"  says  the  Cai)tain,  wagging 
his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well 
versed  in  the  law  of  the  transaction. 
"  You  mean,  sir,'  she  said  slowly, 
"  that  if  me  and  Mr.  Brandon  was 
married  to  each  other,  ho  knowing 
that  he  was  only  playing  at  marriage^ 


162 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


and  me  believing  that  it  was  all  for 
good,  wc  are  really  married." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  are,  madam,  — 
my  client  has  —  that  is,  I  have  had 
advice  on  the  point." 

"  But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was 
—  was  only  a  sort  of  a  marriage  —  an 
irregular  marriage,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Then  the  Act  says  that  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  the  marriage  is 
null  and  void.' 

"But  you  didn't  know,  my  poor 
innocent  child ! "  cries  Mr.  Gann. 
"  How  should  you  ?  How  old  was 
vou  1  She  was  a  child  in  the  nursery, 
ilr.  Bond,  when  the  villain  inveigled 
ber  away  from  her  poor  old  father. 
She  knew  nothing  of  irregular  mar- 
riages." 

"  Of  course  she  did  n't,  the  poor 
creature,"  cries  the  old  gentleman, 
rubbing  his  hands  together  with  per- 
fect good-humor.  "  Poor  young 
thing,  poor  young  thing  !  " 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very 
pale  and  still,  was  sitting  looking  at 
Ridley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung 
in  her  little  room.  Presently  she 
turned  round  on  the  attorney,  folding 
her  little  hands  over  her  work. 

"  Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "  girls, 
though  they  may  be  ever  so  young, 
know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I 
was  more  than  sixteen  when  that  — 
that  business  happened.  I  wasn't 
happy  at  home,  and  eager  to  get 
away.  I  knew  that  a  gentleman  of 
his  rank  would  n't  be  likely  really  to 
marry  a  poor  Cinderella  out  of  a 
lodging-house,  like  me.  If  the  truth 
must  be  told,  I  —  I  knew  it  was  no 
marriage  —  never  thought  it  was  a 
marriage  —  not  for  good,  you  know." 

And  she  folds  her  little  hands  to- 
gether as  she  utters  the  words,  and  I 
dare  say  once  more  looks  at  Philip's 
portrait. 

"  Gracious  goodness,  madam,  yon 
must  be  under  some  error  !  "  cries  the 
attorney.  "  How  should  a  child  like 
you  know  that  the  marriage  was  ir- 
regular ? " 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines !  "  cries 
Caroline  quickly.     "  Never  asked  for 


none !  And  our  maid  we  had  then 
said  to  me,  '  Miss  Carry,  where  'a 
your  lines  ?  And  it 's  no  good  with- 
out.' And  I  knew  it  was  n't !  And 
I  'm  ready  to  go  before  the  Lord 
Chancellor  to-morrow  and  say  so ! " 
cries  Caroline,  to  the  bewilderment 
of  her  father  and  her  cross-€xami- 
nant. 

"  Pause,  pause !  my  good  madam !  " 
exclaims  the  meek  old  gentleman, 
rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent 
you,  sir ! "  cries  Caroline,  very  im- 
periously, leaving  the  lawyer  amazed, 
and  her  father's  face  in  a  bewilder- 
ment, over  which  we  will  fling  his 
snuffy  old  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  If  such  is  unfortunately  the  case, 
—  if  you  actually  mean  to  abide  by 
this  astonishing  confession,  —  which 
deprives  you  of  a  high  place  in  socie- 
ty, —  and  —  and  casts  down  the  hope 
we  had  formed  of  rediessing  your  in- 
jured reputation,  —  I  have  nothing 
for  it !  I  take  my  leave,  madam ! 
Good  morning,  Mr.  Hum !  —  Mr. 
Gann  !  "  And  the  old  lawyer  walks 
out  of  the  Little  Sister's  room. 

"  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage ! 
She  is  fond  of  some  one  else,  —  the 
little  suicide  !  "  thinks  the  old  lawyer, 
as  he  clatters  down  the  street  to  a 
neighboring  house,  where  his  anxious 
principal  was  in  waiting.  "  She  s 
fond  of  some  one  else  !  " 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom 
Caroline  loved  was  Brand  Firmin's 
son  ;  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from 
ruin  that  the  poor  Little  Sister  chose 
to  forget  her  marriage  to  his  father. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

LOVE    ME,    LOVE    MV    DOO. 

Whilst  the  battle  is  raging,  the 
old  folks  and  ladies  peep  over  the 
battlements,  to  watch  the  turns  of 
the  combat,  and  the  behavior  of  the 
knights.  To  princesses  in  old  days, 
whose  lovely  hands  were  to  be  be- 
stowed upon  the  conqueror,  it  must 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


163 


have  been  a  matter  of  no  small  inter- 
est to  know  whether  the  slim  young 
champion  with  the  lovely  eyes  on  tlie 
milk-white  steed  should  vanquish,  or 
the  dumpy,  elderly,  square  -  shoul- 
dered, squinting,  carroty  whiskerando 
of  a  warrior  who  was  laying  about 
him  so  savagely ;  and  so  in  this  bat- 
tle, on  the  issue  of  which  depended 
the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor  Philip's 
inheritance,  there  were  several  non- 
combatants  deeply  interested.  Or 
suppose  we  withdraw  the  chivalrous 
simile  (as  in  fact  the  conduct  and 
views  of  certain  parties  engaged  in 
the  matter  were  anything  but  what 
we  call  chivalrous),  and  imagine  a 
wily  old  monkey  who  engages  a  cat 
to  take  certain  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire,  and  pussy  putting  her  paw 
through  the  bars,  seizing  the  nut  and 
then  dropping  it  f  Jacko  is  disap- 
pointed and  angry,  shows  his  sharp 
teeth,  and  bites  if  he  dares.  When 
the  attorney  went  down  to  do  battle 
for  Philip's  patrimony,  some  of  those 
who  wanted  it  were  spectators  of  the 
fight,  and  lurking  up  a  tree  hard  by. 
When  Mr.  Bond  came  forward  to 
try  and  seize  Phil's  chestnuts,  there 
was  a  wily  old  monkey  who  thrust 
the  cat's  paw  out,  and  proposed  to 
gobble  up  the  smoking  prize. 

If  you  have  ever  been  at  the  "  Ad- 
miral Byng,"  you  know,  my  dear 
madam,  that  the  parlor  where  the 
club  meets  is  just  behind  Mrs. 
Oves's  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  the 
sash  of  the  window  which  communi- 
cates between  the  two  apartments, 
that  good-natured  woman  may  put  her 
face  into  the  club-room,  and  actually 
be  one  of  the  society.  Sometimes  for 
company,  old  Mr.  Ridley  goes  and 

sits  with  Mrs.  O in  her  bar,  and 

reads  the  paper  there.  He  is  slow  at 
his  reading.  The  long  words  puzzle 
the  worthy  gentleman.  As  he  has 
plenty  of  time  to  spare,  he  does  not 
grudge  it  to  the  study  of  his  paper. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.  Bond  went 
to  persuade  Mrs.  Brandon  in  Thom- 
haugh  Street  to  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for 
her  husband,  and  to  disinherit  poor 


Philip,  a  little  gentleman  wrapt  most 
solemnly  and  mysteriously  in  a  great 
cloak  appeared  at  the  bar  of  the 
"  Admiral  Byng,"  and  said  in  an 
aristocratic  manner,  "  You  have  a 
parlor,  show  me  to  it."  And  being 
introduced  to  the  parlor  (where  there 
are  fine  pictures  of  Ovcs,  Mrs. 
O ,  and  "  Spotty-nose,"  their  fav- 
orite defunct  bull-dog),  sat  down  and 
called  for  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  news- 
paper. 

Tke  civil  and  intelligent  potboy  of 
the  "  Byng  "  took  the  party  The  Ad- 
vertiser of  yesterday  (which  to-day's 
paper  was  in  'and)  and  when  the 
gentleman  began  to  swear  over  the 
old  paper,  Frederic  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  to  his  mistress  that  the  new- 
comer was  a  harbitrary  gent,  —  as, 
indeed,  he  was,  with  the  omission, 
perhaps,  of  a  single  letter ;  a  man 
who  bullied  everybody  who  would 
submit  to  be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was 
our  friend  Talbot  Twysdcn,  Esq., 
Commissioner  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomatum  Office  ;  and  I  leave  those 
who  know  him  to  say  whether  he  is 
arbitrary  or  not. 

To  him  presently  came  that  bland 
old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bond,  who  also 
asked  for  a  parlor  and  some  sherry- 
and-water ;  and  this  is  how  Philip 
and  his  veracious  and  astute  biog- 
rapher came  to  know  for  a  certainty 
that  dear  uncle  Talbot  was  the  person 
who  wished  to  —  to  have  Philip's 
chestnuts. 

Mr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Twysdcn  had 
been  scarcely  a  minute  together,  when 
such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came 
clattering  through  the  glass-window 
which  communicates  with  Mrs.  Oves's 
bar,  that  I  dare  say  they  made  the 
jugs  and  tnmblers  clatter  on  the 
shelves,  and  Mr.  Ridley,  a  very  mod- 
est-spoken man,  reading  his  paper, 
lay  it  down  with  a  scared  face,  and 
say,  —  "  Well,  I  never."  Nor  did  he 
often,  I  dare  to  say. 

This  volley  was  fired  by  'Talbot 
Twysden,  in  consequence  of  bis  rage 
at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought 
hint. 


164 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  "Well,  Mr.  Bond  ;  well,  Mr.  Bond ! 
What  does  she  say  1 "  he  asked  of  his 
emissary. 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  business,  Mr.  Twysden.  We  can't 
touch  it ;  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
move  her.  She  denies  the  marriage 
as  much  as  Firmin  does  :  says  she 
knew  it  was  a  mere  sham  when  the 
ceremony  was  performed." 

"  Sir,  you  did  n't  bribe  her  enough," 
shrieked  Mr.  Twysden.  "  You  have 
bungled  this  business  ;  by  George  you 
have,  sir." 

"  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are 
not  ashamed  to  appear  in  it,"  says  tlie 
lawyer.  "  You  dou't  suppose  I  did 
it  because  I  liked  it ;  or  want  to  take 
that  poor  young  fellow's  inheritance 
from  him,  as  you  do." 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir. 
If  I  were  wrongfully  detaining  his 
property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would 
be  the  first  to  give  it  up.  I  desire 
justice  and  law,  and  employ  you 
because  you  are  a  law  agent.  Are 
you  not  ■?  " 

"  And  I  have  been  on  your  errand, 
and  shall  send  in  my  bill  in  due  time ; 
and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  con- 
nection with  you  as  your  law  agent, 
Mr.  Twysden,"  cried  the  old  lawyer. 

"  You  know,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin 
acted  to  me  in  the  last  matter." 

"  Faith,  sir,  if  you  ask  my  opinion 
as  a  law  agent,  I  don't  think  there 
was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How 
much  is  the  sherry-aml-water  ^  —  keep 
the  change.  Sorry  I  had  no  better 
news  to  bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and  as  you 
arc  dissatisfied,  again  recommend  you 
to  employ  another  law  agent." 

"  My  good  sir,  I  —  " 

"  My  good  sir,  I  have  had  other 
dealings  with  your  family,  and  am  no 
more  going  to  put  up  with  your 
highti-tightiness  than  I  would  with 
Lord  llingwood's  when  I  was  one  of 
his  law  agents.  I  am  not  going  to 
tell  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  that  his  uncle 
and  aunt  propose  to  ease  him  of  his 
property ;  but  if  anybody  else  does  — 
that  good  little  Mrs.  Brandon — or  j 
that  old  goose  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-um,  ' 


her  father,  —  I  don't  suppose  he  will 
be  over  well  pleased.  I  am  speaking 
as  a  gentleman  now,  not  as  a  law 
agent.  You  and  your  nephew  had 
each  a  half-share  of  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min's  grandfather's  property,  and  you 
wanted  it  all,  that  's  the  truth,  and 
set  a  law  agent  to  get  it  for  you  ;  and 
swore  at  him  because  he  could  not  get 
it  from  its  right  owner.  And  so,  sir, 
I  wish  you  a  good-morning,  and  rec- 
ommend you  to  take  your  papers  to 
some  other  agent,  Mr.  Twysden." 
And  with  this,  exit  Mr.  Bond.  And 
now,  I  ask  you  if  that  secret  could  be 
kept  which  was  known  through  a 
trembling  glass  door  to  Mrs.  Oves  of 
the  '"  Admiral  Byng,"  and  to  Mr. 
Kidley  the  father  of  J.  J.,  and  the 
obsequious  husband  of  Mrs.  Kidley  ? 
On  that  very  afternoon,  at  tea-time, 
Mrs.  llidley  was  made  acquainted  by 
her  husband  (in  his  noble  and  circum- 
locutory manner)  with  the  conversa- 
tion which  he  had  overheard.  It  was 
agreed  that  an  embassy  should  be  sent 
to  J.  J.  on  the  business,  and  his  advice 
taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s  opinion 
was  that  the  conversation  certainly 
should  be  reported  to  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min, who  might  afterwards  act  upon 
it  as  he  should  think  best. 

What  ?  His  own  aunt,  cousins, 
and  uncle  agreed  in  a  scheme  to  over- 
throw his  legitimacy,  and  deprive 
him  of  his  grandfather's  inheritance  ? 
It  seemed  impossible.  Big  with  the 
tremendous  news,  Philip  came  to  his 
adviser,  Mr.  Pendennis,  of  the  Tem- 
ple, and  told  him  what  had  occurred 
on  the  part  of  father,  uncle,  and  Little 
Sister.  Her  abnegation  had  been  so 
noble  that  you  may  be  sure  Philip 
appreciated  it ;  and  a  tie  of  friendship 
was  formed  between  the  yoimg  man 
and  the  little  lady  even  more  close 
and  tender  than  that  which  had 
bound  them  previously.  But  the 
Twysden s,  his  kinsfolk,  to  employ  a 
lawyer  in  order  to  rib  him  of  his 
inheritance  !  —  O,  it  was  dastardly ! 
Philip  bawled,  and  stamped,  and 
thumped  his  sense  of  the  wrong  in 
his  usual  energetic  manner.     As  for 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


165 


his  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysdcn,  Pliil 
had  often  entertained  a  titronu  desire 
to  wring  his  neck  and  piteli  him 
down  stairs.  "  As  for  Uncle  Talbot : 
that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that  he  is  a 
pompous  old  humbug,  and  the  (jueer- 
est  old  sycophant,  I  grant  you  ;  but  I 
could  n't  have  believed  him  guilty  of 
this.  And  as  for  the  girls  —  U  Mrs. 
Pendennis,  you  who  are  good,  you 
who  are  kind,  although  you  hate 
them,  I  know  you  do,  —  you  can't 
say,  you  won't  say,  that  they  were  in 
the  conspiracy  t  " 

"  But  suppose  Twysden  was  ask- 
ing only  for  what  he  conceives  to  be 
his  rights'?"  asked  Mr.  Pendennis. 
"  Had  your  father  been  married  to 
Mrs.  Brandon,  you  would  not  have 
been  Dr.  Firmin's  legitimate  son. 
Had  you  not  been  his  legitimate  son, 
you  had  no  right  to  a  half-share  of 
your  grandfather's  property.  Uncle 
Talbot  acts  only  the  part  of  honor 
and  justice  in  the  transaction.  He 
is  Brutus,  and  he  orders  you  off  to 
death  with  a  bleeding  heart." 

"  And  he  orders  his  family  out  of 
the  way,"  roars  Phil,  "  so  that  they 
may  n't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  exe- 
cution !  I  see  it  all  now.  I  wish 
somebody  would  send  a  knife  through 
me  at  once,  and  put  an  end  to  me.  I 
see  it  all  now.  Do  you  know  that 
for  the  last  week  I  have  been  to  Beau- 
nash  Street  and  found  nobody  ?  Ag- 
nes had  the  bronchitis,  and  her  moth- 
er was  attending  to  her;  Blanche 
came  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  was  as 
cool  —  as  cool  as  I  have  seen  Lady 
Iceberg  be  cool  to  her.  Then  they 
must  go  away  for  change  of  air. 
They  have  been  gone  these  three 
days :  whilst  Uncle  Talbot  and  that 
viper  of  a  Ringwood  have  been  clos- 
eted with  their  nice  new  friend,  Mr. 

Hunt.      O   conf !      I   beg  your 

pardon,  ma'am ;  but  I  know  you  al- 
ways allow  for  the  energy  of  my  lan- 
guage." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  Little 
Sister,  Mr.  Firmin.  She  has  not 
been  selfish,  or  had  any  scheme  but 
for  your  good,"  remarks  my  wife. 


;      "  A  little  angel  who  drops  her  h's, 

—  .1  little  he;irt,  so  good  and  lender 
thiit  i  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says 
Philip,  drawing  his  big  hand  over  his 
eyes.  "  What  have  men  done  to  get 
the  love  of  some  women  1  We  don't 
Ciirn  it  ;  we  don't  deserve  it,  perhaps. 
We  don't  return  it.  They  bestow  it 
on  us.  I  have  given  nothing  back 
for  all  this  love  and  kindness,  but  I 
look   a   little   like   my  father  of  old 

;  days,  for  whom  —  for  whom  she  had 
an  attachment.  And  see  now  how 
she  would  die  to  serve  me  !  You  are 
wonderful,  women  are !  your  iidelities 
and  your  ficklenesses  alike  marvel- 
lous. What  can  any  woman  liave 
found  to  adore  in  the  Doctor  ?  Do 
you  think  my  father  could  ever  have 
been  adorable,  Mrs.  Pendeimis  ?  And 
yet  I  have  heard  my  poor  mother  say 
she  was  obliged  to  n»arry  him.  She 
knew  it  was  a  bad  match,  but  she 
could  n't  resist  it.  In  what  was  my 
father  so  irresistible  ?  He  is  not  to 
my  taste.  Between  ourselves,  I  think 
he  is  a  —  well,  never  mind  what." 

"I  think  we  had  best  not  mind 
what  ! "  says  my  wife  with  a  smile. 

"  Quite  right  —  quite  right ;  only  I 
blurt  out  everything  that  is  on  my 
mind.  Can't  keep  it  in,"  cries  Phil, 
gnawing  his  mustachios.  "  If  my 
fortune  depended  on  my  silence  I 
should  be  a  beggar,  that's  the  fact. 
And,  you  see,  if  you  had  such  a  fa- 
ther as  mine,  you  yourself  would  I'.nd 
it  rather  difficult  to  hold  your  tonj;ue 
about  him.  But  now,  tell  me :  this 
ordering  away  of  the  girls  and  Aunt 
Twysden,  whilst  the  little  attack 
upon  my  property  is  being  carried  on, 

—  is  n't  it  queer  ?  " 

"  The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said 
Mr.  Pendennis.  "  You  are  restored 
to  your  atdvis  regihus  and  ancestral 
honors.  Now  that  Uncle  Twysden 
can't  get  the  property  without  you, 
have  courage,  my  boy,  —  he  may  take 
it,  along  with  the  cncnmbrance." 

Poor  Phil  had  not  known,  —  but 
some  of  us,  who  are  pretty  clear-sight- 
ed when  our  noble  selves  arc  not  con- 
cerned, had   perceived   that   Philip's 


166 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


dear  aunt  was  playing  fast  and  loose 
with  the  lad,  and  when  his  back  was 
turned  was  encouraging  a  richer  suit- 
or for  her  daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  my 
wife,  thai  she  meddles  with  her  neigh- 
bors as  little  as  any  person  I  ever 
knew ;  but  when  treacheries  in  love 
affairs  are  in  question,  she  fires  up  at 
once,  and  would  persecute  to  death 
almost  the  heartless  male  or  female 
criminal  who  would  break  love's  sa- 
cred laws.  The  idea  of  a  man  or  wo- 
man trifling  with  that  holy  compact 
awakens  in  her  a  flame  of  indignation. 
In  curtain  confidences  (of  which  let 
me  not  vulgarize  the  arcana)  she  had 
given  me  her  mind  about  some  of 
Miss  Twysden's  behavior  with  that 
odious  blackamoor,  as  she  chose  to 
call  Captain  Woolcomb,  who,  I  own 
had  a  very  slight  tinge  of  complexion ; 
and  when,  quoting  the  words  of  Ham- 
let regarding  his  father  and  mother, 
I  asked,  "  Could  she  on  this  fair  moun- 
tain leave  to  feed,  and  batten  on  this 
Moor  ■? "  Mrs.  Pendennis  cried  out 
that  this  matter  was  all  too  serious  for 
jest,  and  wondered  how  her  husband 
could  make  word  plays  about  it. 
Perhaps  she  has  not  the  exquisite 
sense  of  humor  possessed  by  some 
folks  ;  or  is  it  that  she  has  more  rev- 
erence ?  In  her  creed,  if  not  in  her 
church,  marriage  is  a  sacrament,  and 
the  fond  believer  never  speaks  of  it 
without  awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to 
the  marriage  engagement  to  keep  that 
compact  holy,  she  no  more  under- 
stands trifling  with  it  than  she  could 
comjirchend  laughing  and  joking  in 
a  church.  She  has  no  patience  with 
flirtations  as  they  are  calleil.  "  Don't 
tell  me,  sir,"  says  the  enthusiast,  "  a 
light  word  between  a  man  and  a 
married  woman  ought  not  to  be  per- 
mitted." And  this  is  why  she  is 
harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man, 
in  cases  where  such  dismal  matters 
happen  to  fall  under  discussion.  A 
look,  a  word  from  a  woman,  she  says,  i 
will  check  a  libertine  thought  or  word  I 
in  a  man ;  and  these  cases  might  be  I 


stopped  at  once  if  the  woman  but 
showed  the  slightest  resolution.  She 
is  thus  more  angry  (I  am  only  men- 
tioning the  peculiarities,  not  defending 
the  ethics  of  this  individual  moralist), 
—  she  is,  I  say,  more  angrily  disposal 
towards  the  woman  than  the  man  in 
suih  delicate  cases  :  and,  I  am  afraid, 
considers  that  women  are  for  the  most 
part  only  victims  because  they  choose 
to  be  so. 

Now,  we  had  happened  during  the 
season  to  be  at  several  entertainments, 
routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil, 
owing  to  his  unhappy  Bohemian  pref- 
erences and  love  of  tobacco,  &c.,  was 
not  present,  —  and  where  we  saw 
Miss  Agnes  Twysden  carrying  on  such 
a  game  with  the  tawny  Woolcomb  as 
set  Mrs.  Laura  in  a  tremor  of  indig- 
nation. What  though  Agnes's  blue- 
eyed  mamma  sat  near  her  blue-eyed 
daughter  and  kept  her  keen  clear  orbs 
perfectly  wide  open  and  cognizant  of 
all  that  happened  ?  So  much  the 
worse  for  her,  the  worse  for  both.  It 
was  a  shame  and  a  sin  that  a  Chris- 
tian English  mother  should  suffer  her 
daughter  to  deal  lightly  with  the  most 
holy,  the  most  awful  of  human  con- 
tracts ;  should  be  preparing  her  child 
who  knows  for  what  after  misery  of 
mind  and  soul.  Three  months  ago, 
you  saw  how  she  encouraged  poor 
Philip,  and  now  see  her  with  this  mu- 
latto! 

"  Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother, 
my  dear  ?  "  perhaps  at  this  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis interposes. 

"  0,  for  shame.  Pen,  no  levity  on 
this  —  no  sneers  and  laughter  on  this 
most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And 
here,  I  dare  say,  the  woman  falls  to 
caressing  her  own  children  and  hug- 
ging them  to  her  heart  as  her  manner 
was  when  moved.  Que  voiilez-voiis  1 
There  are  some  women  in  the  world 
to  whom  love  and  truth  are  all  in  all 
here  below.  Other  ladies  there  are 
who  see  the  benefit  of  a  good  jointure, 
a  town  and  country  house,  and  so 
forth,  and  who  are  not  so  very  partic- 
ular as  to  the  character,  intellect,  or 
complexion  of  gentlemen  who  are  in  a 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


167 


position  to  offer  their  dear  girls  these 
benefits.  In  fine,  I  say,  that  refrard- 
ing  this  blue-eyed  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, Mrs.  Laura  Pendennis  was  in 
such  a  state  of  mind  that  she  was 
ready  to  tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Nay,  it  was  witli  no  little  diltic-ulty 
that  Mrs.  Laura  could  he  induced  to 
hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter  and 
not  give  Philip  her  opinion.  "  What !  " 
she  would  ask,  "  the  poor  young  man 
is  to  be  deceived  and  cajoled  ;  to  be 
taken  or  left  as  it  suits  these  people ; 
to  be  made  miserable  tor  life  certainly 
if  she  marries  him ;  and  his  friends 
are  not  to  dare  to  warn  him  ?  The 
cowards!  The  cowardice  of  you  men, 
Pen,  upon  matters  of  opinion,  of  you 
masters  and  lords  of  creation,  is  really 
despicable,  sir !  You  dare  not  have 
opinions,  or  holding  them  you  dare 
not  declare  them  and  act  by  them. 
You  compromise  with  crime  every 
day  because  you  think  it  would  be  of- 
ficious to  declare  yourself  and  inter- 
fere. You  are  not  afraid  of  outraging 
morals,  but  of  inflicting  mnui  upon  so- 
ciety, and  losing  j'our  populaiity.  You 
are  as  cynical  as — as,  what  was  the 
name  of  the  horrid  old  man  who  lived 
in  the  tub  —  Demosthenes?  —  well, 
Diogenes  then,  and  the  name  does  not 
matter  a  pin,  sir.  You  are  as  cynical, 
only  you  wear  fine  rnfiled  shirts  and 
wristbands,  and  you  carry  your  lan- 
tern dark.  It  is  not  right  to  '  put 
your  oar  in,'  as  you  say  in  your  jar- 
gon (and  even  your  slang  is  a  sort  of 
cowardice,  sir,  for  you  are  afraid  to 
speak  the  feelings  of  your  heart :)  —  it 
is  not  right  to  meddle  and  speak  the 
truth,  not  right  to  rescue  a  poor  soul 
who  is  drowning — of  course  not.  What 
call  have  you  fine  gentlemen  of  the 
world  to  put  your  oar  in  f  Let  him  per- 
ish !  What  "did  he  in  that  galley? 
That  is  the  language  of  the  world, 
baby,  darling.  And,  my  poor,  poor 
child,  when  you  are  sinking,  nobody  is 
to  stretch  out  a  hand  to  save  you !  " 
As  for  that  wife  of  mine,  when  she  sets 
forth  the  maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to 
the  exuberant  school  of  philosophers, 
I  know  there  is  no  reasoning  with  her. 


I  retire  to  my  books,  and  leave  her  to 
kiss  out  the  rest  of  the  argument  over 
the   children. 

I'hilip  did  not  know  the  extent  of 
the  oi)ligation  which  he  owed  to  his 
little  frienti  iind  guardian,  Caroline; 
but  he  was  aware  that  he  had  no  lict- 
ter  friend  tiian  herself  in  the  world  ; 
and,  1  dare  say,  returned  to  her,  as 
the  wont  is  in  sueh  bargains  between 
man  and  woman  —  woman  and  man, 
at  least  —  a  sixpence  for  that  pure 
gold  treasure,  her  sovereign  affection. 
I  suppose  Caroline  thought  her  sac- 
rifice gave  her  a  little  authority  to 
counsel  Philip ;  for  she  it  was  who, 
I  believe,  first  bid  him  to  inquire 
whether  that  engagement  which  he 
had  virtually  contracted  with  his 
cousin  was  likely  to  lead  to  good,  and 
was  to  be  binding  upon  him  but  not 
on  her  ?  She  brought  Ridley  to  add 
his  doubts  to  her  remonstrances.  She 
showed  Philip  that  not  only  his  un- 
cle's conduct,  but  his  cousin's,  was 
interested,  and  set  him  to  inquire 
into  it  further. 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis 
under  which  ])oor  dear  Agnes  was 
suffering  was  relieved  by  ab.sence  from 
London.  The  smoke,  the  crowded 
parties  and  assemblies,  the  late  hoifts, 
and,  perhaps,  the  gloom  of  the  house 
in  Beaunash  Street,  distressed  the 
poor  dear  child ;  and  her  cough  was 
very  much  soothed  by  that  fine,  cut- 
ting east  wind,  which  blows  so  lib- 
erally along  the  Brighton  clifis,  and 
which  is  so  good  for  coughs,  as  we  all 
know.  But  there  was  one  fault  in 
Brighton  which  could  not  be  helped 
in  her  bad  case :  it  is  too  near  Lon- 
don. The  air,  that  chartered  liber- 
tine, can  blow  down  from  London 
quite  easily  ;  or  people  can  come  from 
London  to  Brighton,  bringing,  I  dare 
say,  the  insidious  London  fog  along 
with  them.  At  any  rate,  Agnes,  if 
she  wished  for  quiet,  poor  thing, 
might  have  gone  farther  and  fared 
better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor  a 
bill,  he  can  run  down  and  present  it 
in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar,  inconven- 
ient acquaintances  thrust  themselves 


1C8 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


upon^ou  at  every  moment  and  cor- 
ner. AVas  ever  such  a  tohubohu  of 
people  as  there  assembles  ?  You 
can't  be  tranquil,  if  you  will.  Or- 
gans pipe  and  scream  without  cease 
at  your  windows.  Your  name  is  put 
down  in  the  papers  when  you  arrive ; 
and  everybody  meets  everybody  ever 
so  many  times  a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set 
lawyers  to  work,  with  the  charita- 
ble purpose  of  ascertaining  whether 
Philip's  property  was.  legitimately  his 
own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal  disturbed 
in  mind.  He  could  not  appreciate 
that  high  sense  of  moral  obligation 
by  which  Mr.  Twysden  was  actuated. 
At  least,  he  thought  that  these  in- 
quiries should  not  have  been  secretly 
set  afoot;  and  as  he  himself  was 
perfectly  open  —  a  great  deal  too 
open,  perhaps  —  in  his  words  and 
his  actions,  he  was  hard  with  those 
who  attempted  to  hoodwink  or  de- 
ceive him. 

It  could  not  be;  ah!  no,  it  never 
could  be,  that  Agnes  the  pure  and 
gentle  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy. 
But  then,  how  very  —  very  often  of 
late  she  had  been  from  home;  how 
very,  very  cold.  Aunt  Twysden's 
shoulder  had  somehow  become.  Once, 
when  he  reached  tlie  door,  a  fish- 
monger's boy  was  leaving  a  fine 
salmon  at  the  kitchen,  —  a  salmon 
and  a  tub  of  ice.  Once,  t%vice,  at  five 
o'clock,  when  he  called,  a  smell  of 
cooking  pervaded  the  hall,  —  that 
hall  which  culinary  odors  very  seldom 
visited.  Some  of  those  noble  Twys- 
den dinners  were  on  the  tapis,  and 
Philip  was  not  asked.  Not  to  be 
asked  was  no  great  deprivation  ;  but 
who  were  the  guests  ?  To  be  sure, 
these  were  trifles  light  as  air;  but 
Philip  smelt  mischief  in  the  steam  of 
those  Twysden  dinners.  He  chewed 
that  salmon  with  a  bitter  sauce  as  he 
saw  it  sink  down  the  area  steps  (and 
disappear  with  its  attendant  lobster) 
in  the  dark  kitchen  regions. 

Yes  ;  eyes  were  somehow  averted 
that  used  to  look  into  his  very  frank- 
ly ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over 


a  little  hand  which  once  xised  to  lio 
very  comfortably  in  his  broad  palm. 
Was  anybody  else  going  to  seize  it, 
and  was  it  going  to  paddle  in  that 
blackamoor's  unblest  fingers  ?  Ah  ! 
fiends  and  tortures  !  a  gentleman  may 
cease  to  love,  but  does  he  like  a  wo- 
man to  cease  to  love  him  ?  People 
carry  on  ever  so  long  for  fear  of  that 
declaration  that  all  is  over.  No  con- 
fession is  more  dismal  to  make.  The 
sun  of  love  has  set.  We  sit  in  the 
dark.  I  mean  you,  dear  madam,  and 
Corydon,  or  I  and  Amaryllis ;  un- 
comfortably, with  nothing  more  to 
say  to  one  another ;  with  the  night 
dew  falling,  and  a  risk  of  catching 
cold,  drearily  contemplating  the  fad- 
ing west,  with  "  the  cold  remains  of 
lustre  gone,  of  fire  long  past  away." 
Sink,  hre  of  love !  Rise,  gentle  moon, 
and  mists  of  chilly  evening.  And, 
my  good  Madam  Amaryllis,  let  us  go 
home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and 
seek  his  cousin.  Arrived  at  his  hotel, 
(and  if  it  were  the  *  *  I  can't  con- 
ceive Philip  in  much  better  quarters), 
he  had  the  opportunity  of  inspecting 
those  delightful  newspaper  arrivals,  a 
perusal  of  which  has  so  often  edified 
us  at  Brighton.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold,  he  was  informed,  continued  theii 
residence.  No.  96  Horizontal  Place ; 
and  it  was  with  those  guardians  he 
knew  his  Agnes  was  staying.  He 
speeds  to  Horizontal  Place.  Miss 
Twysden  is  out.  He  heaves  a  sigh, 
and  leaves  a  card.  Has  it  ever  hap- 
pened to  you  to  leave  a  card  at  lliat 
house  —  that  house  which  was  once 
THE  house  — almost  your  own ;  where 
you  were  ever  welcome ;  where  the 
kindest  hand  was  ready  to  grasp 
yours,  the  brightest  eye  to  greet  you  ? 
And  now  your  friendship  has  dwin- 
dled away  to  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard, 
shed  once  a  year,  and  poor,  dear  Mrs. 
Jones  (it  is  with  J.  you  have  quar- 
relled) still  calls  on  the  ladies  of  your 
family  and  slips  her  husband's  ticket 
upon'the  hall  table.  O,  life  and  time, 
that  it  should  have  come  to  this  !  O 
gracious  powers  !    Do  you  recall  the 


THE  ADVENTLTiES   OF   PHILIP. 


169 


time  wlicn  Arabella  Briggs  was  Ara- 
bella Thompson  ?  You  call  and  talk 
J'adaises  to  her  (at  first  she  is  rather 
nervous,  and  has  the  children  in)  ; 
you  talk  rain  and  fine  weather  ;  the 
last  novel ;  the  next  party  ;  Thomp- 
son in  the  City  ?  Yes,  Mr.  Thomj)- 
son  is  in  the  City.  He  's  pretty  well, 
thank  you.  Ah !  Daggers,  ropes, 
and  poisons,  has  it  come  to  this  ?  You 
are  talking  about  the  weather,  and 
another  man's  health,  and  another 
man's  children,  of  which  she  is  moth- 
er, to  her?  Time  was  the  weather 
was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in  which 
you  and  she  basked ;  or  if  clouds 
gathered,  and  a  storm  fell,  such  a 
glorious  rainbow  haloed  round  you, 
such  delicious  tears  fell  and  refreshed 
you,  that  the  storm  was  more  ravish- 
ing than  the  calm.  And  now  another 
man's  children  are  sitting  on  her  knee 
-^  their  mother's  knee  ;  and  once  a 
year  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Thompson 
request  the  honor  of  Mr.  Brown's 
company  at  dinner  ;  and  once  a  jear 
you  read  in  The  Times,  "  In  Nursery 
Street,  the  wife  of  J.  Thompson,  Esq., 
of  a  Son."  To  come  to  the  dnce-be- 
loved  one's  door,  and  find  the  knocker 
tied  up  with  a  white  kid  glove,  is  hu- 
miliating,—  say  what  you  will,  it  is 
humiliating. 

Philip  leaves  his  card,  and  walks 
on  to  the  Cliff,  and  of  course,  in  three 
minutes,  meets  Clinker.  Indeed,  wlio 
ever  went  to  Brighton  for  half  an  hour 
without  meeting  Clinker  ? 

"Father  pretty  well  ?  His  old  pa- 
tient. Lady  Geminy,  is  down  here 
with  the  children  ;  what  a  number  of 
them  there  are,  to  be  sure  !  Come  to 
make  any  stay  1  See  your  cousin, 
Miss  Twysden,  is  here  with  the  Pen- 
folds.  Little  party  at  the  Grigsons' 
last  night ;  she  looked  uncommonly 
well ;  danced  ever  so  many  times  with 
the  Black  Prince,  Wooleomb  of  the 
Greens  Suppose  I  may  congratulate 
you.  Six  thousand  five  hundred  a 
year  now,  and  thirteen  thousand  when 
his  grandmother  dies ;  but  those  ne- 
gresses  live  forever.  I  suppose  the 
thing  is  settled.     I  saw  them  on  the 


pier  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Penfold  was 
reading  a  book  in  the  arbor.  Book 
of  sermons  it  was,  —  pious  woman, 
Mrs.  Penfold.  I  dare  say  they  arc 
on  the  pier  still."  Striding  with  hur- 
ried steps  Philij)  Firniin  makes  for 
the  pier.  The  breathless  Clinker  can- 
not keep  alongside  of  his  face.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  it  when 
Clinker  said  that  "  the  thing  "  was 
settled  between  Miss  Twysden  and 
the  cavalry  gentleman. 

There  were  a  few  nursery  govern- 
esses, maids,  and  children,  paddling 
about  at  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and 
there  wa-;  a  fat  woman  reading  a  book 
in  one  of  the  arbors,  —  but  no  Agnes, 
no  Wooleomb.  Where  can  tliey  be  ? 
Can  they  be  weighing  each  other  ? 
or  buying  those  mad  pebbles,  which 
people  are  known  to  jjurchase  1  or 
having  their  silhoudlcs  done  in  black  ? 
Ha  !  ha  !  Wooleomb  would  hardly 
have  his  face  done  in  blaik.  The  idea 
would  provoke  odious  comparisons.  I 
see  Philip  is  in  a  dreadfully  bad  sar- 
castic humor. 

U])  tliere  comes  from  one  of  those 
trap-doors  which  lead  doviii  from  the 
pier-head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever 
resth  ssly  jumping  below, — up  there 
comes  a  little  Skye-terrier  dog  with  a 
red  collar,  who,  as  soon  as  she  sees 
Philip,  sings,  squeaks,  whines,  runs, 
jumps,  Jlumps  up  on  him,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  kisses  his  hands, 
and  with  eyes,  tongue,  ])aws,  and 
tail  shows  him  a  thousand  marks 
of  welcome  and  afleetion.  "  AVhat, 
Brownie,  Brownie  ! "  Pliili]i  is  glad 
to  see  the  dog,  an  old  friend  who  has 
many  a  time  licked  his  hand  and 
bounced  upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over.  Brownie,  wag- 
ging her  tail  with  prodigious  activity, 
trots  before  Philip,  —  trots  down  an 
opening,  down  the  steps  under  which 
the  waves  shimmer  greenly,  and  into 
quite  a  quiet  remote  corner  just  over 
the  water,  whence  you  may  command 
a  most  beautiful  view  of  the  sea,  the 
shore,  the  Marine  Parade,  and  the 
"  Albion  -  Hotel,"  and  where,  were  I 
five-and-twenty  say,  with  nothing  els« 


170 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


to  do,  I  would  gladly  pass  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  talking  about  "  Glaucus, 
or  the  Wonders  of  the  Deep  "  with 
the  object  of  my  affections. 

Here,  amongst  the  labryintli  of 
pile-i.  Brownie  goes  flouncing  along 
till  she  comes  to  a  young  couple  who 
are  looking  at  the  view  just  describ.'d. 
In  order  to  view  it  better,  the  young 
man  has  laid  his  hand,  a  pretty  little 
hand  most  delicately  gloved,  on  the 
lady's  hand  ;  and  Brownie  comes  up 
and  nuzzles  against  her,  and  whines 
and  talks  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Here 's 
somebody,"  and  the  lady  says, 
"  Down  Brownie,  miss." 

"  It 's  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog," 
says  the  gentlemin  (he  has  very  curly, 
not  to  say  woolly  hair,  under  his 
natty  little  hat).  "I'll  give  you  a 
pug  with  a  nose  you  can  hang  your 
hat  on.  I  do  know  of  one  now.  My 
man  Ruinmins  knows  of  one.  Do 
you  like  pugs  ?  " 

"  I  adore  them,"  says  the  lady. 

"  I  '11  give  you  one,  if  I  have  to 
pay  fifty  pounds  for  it.  And  thoy 
fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  pugs  do, 
I  can  tell  you.  Once  in  London 
there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em, 
and  —  " 

"  Brownie,  Brownie,  down  ! "  cries 
Agnes.  The  dog  was  jumping  at  a 
gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a 
red  mustache  and  beard,  who  ad- 
vances through  the  checkered  shade, 
under  the  ponderous  beams,  over  the 
translucent  sea. 

"  Pray  don't  mind,  Brownie  won't 
hurt  me,"  says  a  perfectly  well-known 
voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all 
the  color  shuddering  out  of  Miss 
Agnes's  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this 
dog,  Captain  Woolcomb,"  says  the 
gentleman  ;  "  and  the  little  slut  re- 
members me  Perhaps  Miss  Twysden 
prefers  the  pug  better." 

"  Sir ! " 

"  If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang 
your  hat  on,  it  must  be  a  very  pret- 
ty dog,  and  I  suppose  you  intend 
to  hang  your  hat  on  it  a  good 
deal." 


"  O  Philip  !  "  says  the  lady  ;  but 
an  attack  of  that  dreadful  coughing 
stops  further  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTAINS     TWO    OF     PHILIP 's    MIS- 
HAPS. 

You  know  that,  in  some  parts  of 
India,  infanticide  is  the  common 
custom.  It  is  part  of  the  religion  of 
the  land,  as,  in  other  districts,  widow- 
burning  used  to  be.  I  can't  imagine 
that  ladies  like  to  destroy  either  them- 
selves or  their  children,  though  they 
submit  with  bravery,  and  even  cheer- 
fulness, to  the  decrees  of  that  religion 
which  orders  them  to  make  away 
with  their  own  or  their  young  ones' 
lives.  Now,  sup}K)se  you  and  I,  as 
Europeans,  happened  to  drive  up 
where  a  young  creature  was  just  about 
to  roast  herself,  under  the  advice  of 
her  family  and  the  highest  dignitaries 
of  her  church;  what  could  we  do? 
Rescue  her?  No  such  thing.  We 
know  better  than  to  interfere  with 
her,  and  the  laws  and  usages  of  her 
country.  We  turn  away  with  a  sigh 
from  the  mournful  scene ;  we  pull  out 
our  pocket-handkerchiefs,  tell  coach- 
man to  drive  on,  and  leave  her  to  her 
sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden  : 
how,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  can 
we  help  her  ?  You  see  she  is  a  well- 
brought-up  and  religious  young  wo- 
man of  the  Brahminical  sect.  If  she 
is  to  be  sacrificed,  that  old  Brahmin 
her  father,  that  good  and  devout 
mother,  that  most  special  Brahmin 
her  brother,  and  that  admirable  girl 
her  strait-laced  sister,  all  insist  upon 
her  undergoing  the  ceremony,  and 
deck  her  with  flowers  ere  they  lead 
her  to  that  dismal  altar  flame.  Sup- 
pose, I  say,  she  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  throw  over  poor  Philip,  and 
take  on  wich  some  one  else  ?  What 
sentiment  ought  oar  virtuous  bosoms 
to  entertain  towards   ber?     Anger? 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


171 


1  have  just  been  holding  a  conversa- 
tion with  a  young  fellow  in  rags  and 
without  shoes,  whose  bed  is  common- 
ly a  dry  arch,  who  has  been  repeated- 
ly in  prison,  whose  father  and  mother 
we/e  thieves,  and  whose  grandfathers 
were  thieves ;  —  are  we  to  be  angry 
with  him  for  following  the  paternal 
profession  ?  With  one  eye  brimming 
with  pity,  the  other  steadily  keeping 
watch  over  the  family  spoons,  I  listen 
to  his  artless  tale.  1  have  no  anger 
against  that  child  ;  nor  towards  thee, 
Agnes,  daughter  of  Talbot  the  Brah- 
min. 

For  though  duty  is  duty,  when  it 
comes  to  the  pinch,  it  is  often  iuird  to 
do.  Though  dear  papca  and  mamma 
say  that  here  is  a  gentleman  with 
ever  so  many  thousands  a  year,  an 
undoubted  part  in  So-and-So-shire, 
and  whole  islands  in  the  western 
main,  who  is  wildly  in  love  with  your 
fair  skin  and  blue  eyes,  and  is  ready 
to  fling  all  his  treasures  at  your  feet ; 
yet  after  all,  when  you  consider  that 
he  is  very  ignorant,  though  very  cun- 
ning ;  very  stingy,  though  very  rich ; 
very  ill-tempered,  probably,  if  fates 
and  eyes  and  mouths  can  tell  truth  : 
and  as  for  Philip  Firmin  —  though 
actually  his  legitimacy  is  dubious,  as 
we  have  lately  heard,  in  which  case 
his  maternal  fortune  is  ours,  — and  as 
for  his  paternal  inheritance,  we  don't 
know  whether  the  doctor  is  worth 
thirty  thousand  pounds  or  a  shilling; 
—  yet,  after  all  —  as  for  Philip  —  he 
is  a  man  ;  he  is  a  gentleman ;  he  has 
brains  in  his  head,  and  a  great  honest 
heart  of  wliich  he  has  otFered  to  give 
the  best  feelings  to  his  cousin  :  —  I 
say,  when  a  poor  girl  has  to  be  off 
with  that  old  love,  that  honest  and 
fair  love,  and  be  on  with  the  new  one, 
the  dark  one,  I  feel  for  her;  and 
though  the  Brahmins  are,  as  we 
know,  the  most  genteel  sect  in  Hin- 
dostan,  I  rather  wish  the  poor  child 
could  have  belonged  to  some  lower 
and  less  rigid  sect.  Poor  Agnes  !  to 
think  that  he  has  sat  for  hours,  with 
mamma  and  Blanche  or  the  govern- 
ess, of  course,  in  the  room  (for,  you 


know,  when  she  and  Philip  wert 
quite  wee  wee  things  dear  mamma 
had  little  amiable  plans  in  view)  ;  has 
sat  for  hours  by  Miss  Twysdun's  side 
pouring  out  his  heart  to  her  ;  has  had, 
mayhap,  little  precious  moments  of 
confidential  talk,  —  little  hasty  whis- 
pers in  corridors,  on  stairs,  behind 
window-curtains,  and  —  and  so  forth 
in  fact.  She  must  remember  all  this 
past ;  and  can't,  without  some  pang, 
listen  on  the  same  sofa,  behind  the 
same  window-curtains,  to  her  dark 
suitor  pouring  out  his  artless  tales  of 
barracks,  boxing,  horseflesh,  and  the 
tender  passion.  He  is  dull,  he  is 
mean,  he  is  ill-tempered,  he  is  igno- 
rant, and  the  other  was  .  .  .  .  ;  but 
she  will  do  her  duty  :  O  yes !  she 
will  do  her  duty !  Poor  Agnes ! 
C'rst  a  fendre  le  caw.  1  declare  I 
quite  feel  for  her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused, 
I  have  been  compelled,  as  his  biogra- 
pher, to  own  how  very  rude  and  disa- 
j  greeable  he  could  be;  and  you  must 
i  acknowledge  that  a  young  man  has 
i  some  reason  to  be  displeased,  when  he 
finds  the  girl  of  his  heart  liand-in-hand 
with  another  young  gentleman  in  an 
occult  and  shady  reeess  of  the  wood- 
work of  Brighton  Pier.  The  green 
waves  are  softly  murmuring  :  so  is 
the  officer  of  the  Life  Guards  Green. 
The  waves  are  kissing  the  beach. 
Ah,  agonizing  thought !  I  will  not 
pursue  the  simile,  which  may  be  liut  a 
jealous  man's  mad  fantasy.  Of  tins 
1  am  sure,  no  pebble  on  that  beach  is 
cooler  than  polished  Agnes.  But, 
then,  Philip  drunk  with  jealousy  is 
not  a  reasonble  being  like  I'hilip  so- 
ber. "  He  had  a  dreadful  iem])tr," 
Philip's  dear  aunt  said  of  him  after- 
wards, —  "I  trembled  for  my  dear 
gentle  child,  united  forever  to  a  man 
of  that  violence.  Never,  in  my  secret 
mind,  could  I  think  that  their  union 
could  be  a  happy  one.  Besides,  vou 
know,  the  nearness  of  their  relation- 
ship. My  scruples  on  that  score,  dear 
Mrs.  Candor,  never,  never  could  be 
quite  got  over."  And  these  scruples 
came    to    weigh  whole  tons,   whea 


172 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Man<rrove  Hall,  the  house  in  Berke- 
ley yqu:ire,  and  Mr.  Woolcomb's 
West  India  island  were  put  into  the 
scale  alo  ig  with  them. 

Of  course  tliere  Wiis  no  good  in  re- 
maining amongst  t  lose  damp,  reeking 
timl>ers,  now  that  the  pretty  little  tete- 
a4ete  was  over.  Little  Brownie  hung 
fondling  and  whining  round  Philip's 
ankles,  as  the  party  ascended  to  the 
upper  air.  "  My  child,  how  pale  you 
look !  "  cries  Mrs.  Penfold,  putting 
down  her  volume.  Out  of  the  Cap- 
tain's opal  eyeballs  shot  lurid  flames, 
and  hot  blood  burned  behind  his  yel- 
low cheeks.  In  a  quarrel,  Mr.  Philip 
Firrain  could  be  particularly  cool  and 
self-possessed.  When  Miss  Agnes 
rather  piteotisly  introduced  him  to 
Mrs.  Penfold,  he  made  a  bow  as  po- 
lite and  gracious  as  any  performed  by 
his  royal  father.  "  My  little  dog 
knew  me,"  he  said,  caressing  the  ani- 
mal. "  She  is  a  faithful  little  thing, 
and  she  led  me  down  to  my  cousin  ; 
and  —  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  think, 
is  your  name,  sir?*" 

As  Philip  curls  his  mustache  and 
smiles  blandly.  Captain  Woolcomb 
pulls  his  and  scowls  fiercely.  "  Yes, 
sir,"  he  mutters,  "  my  name  is 
Woolcomb."  Another  bow  and  a 
touch  of  the  hat  from  Mr.  Firmin. 
A  touch  ?  —  a  gracious  wave  of  the 
hat;  acknowlcilged  by  no  means  so 
gracefully  by  Captain  Woolcomb 

To  these  remarks  Mrs.  Penfold 
says,  "Oh ! "  In  fact,  ' Oh  ! " is alwut 
the  best  thing  th:it  could  be  said  un- 
der the  circumstiiuces. 

"  My  cousin.  Miss  Twysdiin,  looks 
so  pale  because  she  Wivs  out  vcrv  late 
dancing  hist  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very 
pretty  ball.  But  ought  she  to  keep 
such  late  hours,  Mrs.  Penfold,  with 
her  delicate  health  ?  Indeed,  you  ought 
not,  Agnes !  Ought  she  to"  keep  late 
hours.  Brownie  ?  There  —  don't, 
you  little  foolish  thing !  I  gave  my 
cousin  the  dog  :  and  she 's  very  fond 
of  me  —  the  dog  is — still.  You 
were  saying,  Captain  Woolcomb, 
when  I  came  up,  that  you  would  give 
Miss  Twysden  a  dog  on  whos^  nose 


you  could  hang  your  .  ,  ,  ,  I  beg 
pardon  ? " 

Mr.  Woolcomb,  as  Philip  made 
this  second  allusion  to  the  peculiar 
nasal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground 
his  little  white  teeth  together,  and  let 
slip  a  most  improper  monosyllable. 
More  acute  bronchial  suffering  was 
manifested  on  the  part  of  Miss  Twys- 
den. Mrs.  Penfold  said,  "  The  day  is 
clouding  over.  I  think,  Agnes,  I 
will  have  my  chair,  and  go  home." 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  walk  with 
you  as  far  as  your  house  ? "  says 
Philip,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which 
he  wore  at  his  watch-chain.  It  was  a 
little  gold  locket,  with  a  little  pale 
hair  inside.  Whose  hair  could  it  have 
been  that  was  so  pale  and  fine  ?  As 
for  the  pretty,  hieroglyphical  A.  T. 
at  the  back,  those  letters  might  indi- 
cate Alfred  Tennyson,  or  Anthony 
TroUope,  who  might  have  given  a 
lock  of  their  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for 
I  know  he  is  an  admirer  of  their 
works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little 
locket.  Captain  Woolcomb  pulled 
his  mustache  so,  that  you  would  have 
thought  he  wouUl  have  pulled  it  off; 
and  his  opal  eyes  glaretl  with  fearful 
confusion  and  wrath. 

"  Will  you  please  to  fal?  back  and 
let  me  speak  to  you,  Agnes  ?  Pardon 
me.  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  pri- 
vate m-ssage  for  ray  cousin  ;  and  I 
came  from  London  expressly  to  deliv- 
er it." 

"  If  Miss  Twysden  desires  me  to 
withdraw,  I  fall  back  in  one  mo- 
ment," says  the  Ca]>tain,  clenching 
the  lemon-colored  gloves. 

'•  My  cousin  and  I  have  lised  to- 
gether all  our  lives,  and  I  bring  her  a 
family  message.  Have  you  any  par- 
ticular claim  to  hear  it,  Captain 
Woolcomb  ?  " 

"  Not  if  Miss  Twysden  don't  want 

me  to  hear  it D the  little 

brute." 

"  Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless 
Brownie  !  He  sha'  n't  kick  you,  shall 
he.  Brownie  ? " 

"  If  the  brute  comes  between   my 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


173 


shins,  I  '11  kick  her  !  "  shrieks  the 
Captain.  "  Hang  her,  I'll  throw  her 
into  the  sea  !  " 

"  Whatever  you  do  to  my  dog, 
I  swear  I  will  do  to  you  !  "  whispers 
Philip  to  the  Captain. 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ?  "shrieks 
the  Captain.  "  Hang  you,  you  shall 
hear  from  me." 

"  Quiet  — '  Bedford  Hotel.'  Easy, 
or  I  shall  think  you  want  the  ladies 
to  overhear." 

"  Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir," 
says  Agnes,  rapidly,  in  the  French 
language.  "  Mr.  does  not  compre- 
hend it." 

" it !     If  you  have  any  secrets 

to  talk,  I  '11  withdraw  fast  enough. 
Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 

"  O  Grenville !  can  I  have  any 
secrets  from  you  ?  Mr.  Firmin  is  my 
first-cousin.  We  have  lived  together 
all  our  lives.  Philip,  I  —  I  don't 
know  whether  mamma  announced  to 
you  —  my  —  my  engagement  with 
Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb."  The 
agitation  has  brought  on  another  se- 
vere bronchial  attack.  Poor,  poor 
little  Agnes  !  What  it  is  to  have  a 
delicate  throat ! 

The  pier  tosses  up  to  the  skies,  as 
though  it  had  left  its  moorings, —  the 
houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as 
though  an  earthquake  was  driving 
them,  —  the  sea  walks  up  into  the 
lodging-houses,  —  and  Philip's  legs 
arc  failing  from  under  him :  it  is 
only  for  a  moment.  When  you  have 
a  large,  tough  double  tooth  out, 
does  n't  the  chair  go  up  to  the  ceiling, 
and  your  head  come  off  too  f  But  in 
the  next  instant,  there  is  a  grave  gen- 
tleman before  you,  making  you  a  how, 
and  concealing  something  in  his  right 
sleeve.  The  crash  is  over.  You  are 
a  man  again.  Philip  clutches  hold 
of  the  chain-pier  for  a  minute  :  it  does 
not  sink  under  him.  The  houses, 
after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two,  re- 
assume  the  perpendicular,  and  bulge 
their  bow-windows  towards  the  main. 
He  can  see  the  people  looking  from 
the  windows,  the  carriages  passing, , 
Professor  Spurrier  riding  on  the  cliff  | 


with  eighteen  young  ladies,  his  pupils. 
In  long  after-days  he  remembers  tiiose 
ahsunl  little  incidents  with  a  curious 
tenacity. 

"  This  news,"  Philip  says,  "  was 
not  —  not  altogether  unexpected.  I 
congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure. 
Captain  Woolcomb,  had  I  known 
this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  have  interrupted  you.  You  were 
going,  ]>erhaps,  to  ask  me  to  your  hos- 
pitable house,  Mrs.  Penfold^  " 

"  AVas  she  though  ?  "  cries  the 
Captain. 

"  I  have  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with 
me  at  tlie  '  Bedford,'  and  shall  go  to 
town,  I  hope,  in  the  morning.  Can 
I  take  anything  for  you,  Agnes  t 
Good  by  "  :  and  he  kisses  his  hand  in 
quite  a  cle'ga (je  munner,  as  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold's  chair  turns  eastward  and  he 
goes  to  the  west.  Silently  the  tall 
Agnes  sweeps  along,  a  fair  hand  laid 
upon  her  friend's  chair. 

It 's  over  !  it 's  over  !  She  has  done 
it.  He  was  bound,  and  kept  his  hon- 
or, but  she  did  not:  it  was  she  who 
forsook  him.  And  I  fear  very  much 
Mr.  Philip's  heart  leaps  with  pleasure 
and  an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at 
thinking  he  is  free.  He  meets  half  a 
dozen  acquaintances  on  the  cliff.  He 
laughs,  jokes,  shakes  hands,  invites 
two  or  three  to  dinner  in  the  gayest 
manner.  He  sits  down  on  that  green, 
not  very  far  from  his  inn,  and  ia 
laughing  to  himself,  when  he  suddenly 
feels  something  nestling  at  his  knee,  — 
rubbing,  and  nestling,  and  whining 
plaintively.  "  What,  is  that  you  1  " 
It  is  little  Brownie,  who  has  followed 
him.     Poor  little  rogue ! 

Then  Philip  bent  down  his  head 
over  the  dog,  and  as  it  jumped  on 
him,  with  little  bleats,  and  whines, 
and  innocent  caresses,  he  broke  out 
into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing  rain 
of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  Such  a 
little  illness.'  Such  a  'mild  fever! 
Such  a  speedy  cure !  Some  })coplo 
have  the  complaint  so  mildly  that 
they  are  scarcely  ever  kept  to  their 
beds.     Some  bear  its    scars    forever. 

Philip  sat  resolutely  at  the  hotel 


174 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


all  night,  having  given  special  orders 
to  the  porter  to  say  that  he  was  at 
home,  in  case  any  gentleman  should 
call.  He  had  a  faint  hope,  he  after- 
wards owned,  that  some  friend  of 
Captain  Woolcomb  might  wait  on 
him  on  that  officer's  part.  He  had  a 
faint  hope  that  a  letter  might  come 
explaining  that  treason,  —  as  people 
will  have  a  sick,  gnawing,  yearning, 
fo!)lish  desire  for  letters,  —  letters 
which  contain  nothing,  which  never 
did  contain  anything,  —  letters  which, 
nevertheless,  you  — .  Yoa  know, 
in  fact,  about  those  letters,  and  there 
is  no  earthly  use  in  asking  to  read 
Philip's.  Have  we  not  all  read  those 
love-letters  which,  after  love-quarrels, 
come  into  court  sometimes  ?  We 
have  all  read  them  ;  and  how  many 
have  written  them?  Nine  o'clock. 
Ten  o'clock.  Eleven  o'clock.  No 
challenge  from  the  Captain  ;  no  ex- 
planation from  Agnes.  Philip  de- 
clares he  slept  perfectly  well.  But 
poor  little  Brownie  the  dog  made  a 
piteous  howling  all  night  in  the  ! 
stables.  She  was  not  a  well-bred  | 
dog.  You  could  not  have  hung  the  j 
least  hat  on  her  nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  ' 
to  a  Brahmin  lady,  meekly  offering  [ 
herself  up  to  sacrifice  according   to 
the   practice  used   in  her  highly  re-  ' 
Bpectable  caste.  Did  we  speak  in  anger 
or  in  sorrow  ?  —  surely  in  terras  of  re-  | 
spectful  grief  and  sympathy.     And  if 
•we  pity  her,  ought  we  not  likewise  to  ! 
pity  her  highly  respectable  parents  ? 
When  the  notorious  Brutus  ordered 
his  sons  to  execution,  you  can't  sup- 
pose he  was  such  a  brute  as  to  lie 
pleaded  1     All  three   parties  sufTcred 
by  the  transaction ;  the  sons,  proba- 
bly,  even   more   than    their    austere 
father ;  but  it  stands  to  reason  that 
the  whole  trio  were  very  melancholy. 
At  lea<t,  were   I    a  poet  or  musical 
composer   depicting  that  business,  I 
certainly  should  make  them  so.     The 
sons,   piping    in  a  very    minor    key 
indeed  ;  the  father's  manly  basso,  ac- 
companied by  deep  wind  instruments, 
and  interrupted  by  appropriate  sobs. 


I  Though  pretty  fair  Agnes  is  being 
led  to  execution,  I  don't  suppose  she 
j  likes  it,  or  that  her  parents  are  hap- 
!  py,  who  are  compelled  to  order  the 
,  tragedy. 

I  That  the  rich  young  proprietor  of 
Mangrove  Hall  should  be  fond  of  her 
I  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twys- 
den  afterwards  always  averred.  Not 
for  mere  wealth  —  ah  no !  not  for 
mines  of  gold  —  would  they  sacrifice 
their  darling  child.  But  when  that  sad 
Firmin  affair  happened,  you  see  it  also 
happened  that  Captain  Woolcomb 
was  much  struck  by  dear  Agnes, 
whom  he  met  everywhere.  Her 
scapegrace  of  a  cousin  would  go  no- 
where. He  preferred  his  bachelor  asso- 
ciates, and  horrible  smoking  and 
drinking  habits,  to  the  amusements 
and  pleasures  of  more  refined  society. 
He  neglected  Agnes.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  doubt  he  neglected  and 
mortified  her,  and  his  wilful  and  fre- 
quent absence  showed  how  little  he 
cared  for  her.  Would  you  blame  the 
dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  who 
himself  showed  such  indifference  to 
her  ?  "  No,  my  good  Mrs.  Candor. 
Had  Mr.  Firmin  been  ten  times  as  rich 
as  Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  should  have 
counselled  my  child  to  refuse  him.  / 
take  the  responsibility  of  the  meas- 
ure entirely  on  myself, —  I,  and  her 
father,  and  her  brother."  So  Mrs. 
Twysden  afterwards  spoke,  in  circles 
where  an  absurd  and  odious  rumor 
ran,  that  the  Twysdens  had  forced 
their  daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr.  Fir- 
min in  order  to  marry  a  wealthy 
quadroon.  People  will  talk,  you 
know,  de  me,  de  te.  If  Woolcomb's 
dinners  had  not  gone  off  so  after  his 
marriage,  I  have  little  doubt  the 
scandal  would  have  died  away,  and 
he  and  his  wife  might  have  been 
pretty  generally  respected  and  visited. 
Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have 
said,  that  dear  Agnes  gave  up  her 
first  love  without  a  pang.  That 
bronchitis  showed  how  acutely  the 
poor  thing  felt  her  position.  It  broke 
out  very  soon  after  Mr.  Woolcomb's 
attentions  became  a  little  particular ; 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


175 


and  she  actually  left  London  in  con- 
sequence. It  is  true  that  he  could 
follow  her  without  difficulty,  but  so, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  could  Philip, 
.  as  we  have  seen  when  he  came  down 
and  behaved  so  rudely  to  Captain 
Woolcomb.  And  before  Philip  came, 
poor  Agnes  could  plead,  "  My  father 
pressed  me  sair,"  as  in  the  case  of 
the  notorious  Mrs.  Kobin  Gray. 

Father  and  mother  both  pressed 
her  sair.  Mrs.  Tvvysden,  I  think  I 
have  mentioned,  wrote  an  admirable 
letter,  and  was  aware  of  her  accom- 
plishment. She  used  to  write  reams 
of  gos^>ip  regularly  every  week  to  dear 
uncle  Ringwood  when  he  was  in  the 
country :  and  when  her  daughter 
Blanche  married,  she  is  said  to  have 
written  several  of  her  new  son's  ser- 
mons. As  a  Christian  mother,  was 
she  not  to  give  her  daughter  her  ad- 
vice at  this  momentous  period  of  her 
life  ?  That  advice  went  against  poor 
Philip's  chances  with  his  cousin,  who 
was  kept  acquainted  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  controversy  of 
which  we  have  just  seen  the  issue.  I 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Twysden 
gave  an  impartial  statement  of  the 
case.  What  parties  in  a  lawsuit  do 
speak  impartially  on  their  own  side 
or  their  adversaries'  1  Mrs.  Twys- 
den's  view,  as  I  have  learned  subse- 
quently, and  as  imparted  to  her 
daughter,  was  this  :  —  That  most  un- 
principled man,  Dr.  Fiimin.wlio  had 
already  attempted,  and  unjustly,  to 
deprive  the  Twysdens  of  a  part  of 
their  property,  had  commenced  in 
quite  early  life  his  career  of  outrage 
and  wickedness  against  the  Ring- 
wood  family.  He  had  led  dear  Lord 
Ringwood's  son,  poor  dear  Lord 
Cinqbars,  into  a  career  of  vice  and 
extravagance  which  caused  the  pre- 
mature death  of  that  unfortunate 
young  nobleman.  Mr.  Firmin  had 
then  made  a  marriage,  in  spite  of  the 
tears  and  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Twysden, 
with  her  late  unhappy  sister,  whose 
whole  life  had  been  made  wretched  by 
the  Doctor's  conduct.  But  the  climax 
of  outrage  and  wickedness  was,  that 


when  he  —  he,   a  low,  penniless  ad- 
venturer —  married     Colonel    Ring- 
wood's  daughter,  he  was  married  al- 
ready, as  could  be  sworn  by  the  re- 
pentant   clergyman    who   had    been 
forced,    by    threats    of    punishment 
which  Dr.  Firmin  held  over  him,  to 
perform   the   rite «    "  The   mind  "  — 
Mrs.  Talbot  Twysdcn's  fine  mind  — 
'  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  such 
wickedness."      But  most  of  all  (for 
to  think  ill  of  any  one  whom  she  had 
j  once  loved  gave  her  pain)  there  was 
I  reason  to  believe  that   the   unhappy 
Philip  Firmin  was  his  father's  accom- 
plice, and  that  he  knew  of  his  own 
illegitimacy,  which  he  was  determined 
to  set  aside  by  any  ff-uud  or  artifice  — 
(she  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to  say 
this  :    O  Heaven !    that  there  should 
be  such  perversity  in  thy  creatures  !) 
i  And  so  little  store  did  Philip  set  by 
i  his   mother's  honor,   that   he    actually 
I  visited   the  abandoned  woman  who 
acquiesced  in  her  own  infamy,  and 
j  had   brought  such   unspeakable  dis- 
grace on  the  Ringwood  family  !   The 
I  thought  of   this    crime  had    caused 
Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  dear  husband 
I  nights    of   sleepless    anguish, —  had 
!  made   them  i/ears  and  years  older, — 
had  stricken  their  hearts  with  a  grief 
which  must  endure  to  the  end  of  their 
days.     With  people  so  unscrupulous, 
so  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Firmin 
and  (must  she   say?)  his   son,   they 
were  bound  to  be  on  their  guard;  and 
though  they  had  avoided  Philip,  she 
had  deemed  it  right,  on  the  rare  occa- 
sions when  she  and  the  young  man 
whom  she  must  now  call  her  illegiti- 
mate nephew  met,  to  behave  as  though 
she  knew  nothing  of  this  most  dreadful 
controversy. 

"  And  now,  dearest  child  "... 
Surely  the  moral  is  obvious.  The 
dearest  child  "  must  see  at  once  that 
any  foolish  plans  which  were  formed 
in  childish  days  and  under  /orwer  de- 
lusions must  be  cast  aside  forever  as 
impossible,  as  unworthy  of  a  Twys- 
den —  of  a  Ringwood.  Be  not  con- 
cerned for  the  young  man  himself," 
wrote    Mrs.    Twysden,  —  "I    blush 


175 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


thu  he  should  bear  that  dear  father's 
niiua  who  was  slain  in  honor  on 
Bii.saco's  glorious  field.  P.  F  has 
associates  amongst  wh  iin  he  has  ever 
been  much  more  at  home  than  in  our 
refined  circle,  and  habits  which  will 
ciiise  him  to  forget  you  only  too 
e.i-ily.  And  if  near  you  is  one  whose 
ardor  shows  i  tself  in  his  every  word 
and  action,  whose  wealth  and  proper- 
ty in  ly  raise  you  to  a  place  worthy  of 
my  child,  need  I  say,  a  mother's,  a 
fither's  blessing  go  with  you." 
'i'his  letter  was  brought  to  Miss 
Twysden,  at  Brighton,  by  a  special 
me.<.scnger ;  and  the  superscription 
announced  that  it  was  "  honored  by 
Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb." 

Now  when  Miss  Agnes  has  had  a 
letter  to  this  effect  (1  may  at  some 
time  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  ac- 
(|uainted  with  its  contents) ;  when 
she  remembers  all  the  abuse  her 
brother  lavishes  against  Philip  as, 
Heaven  bless  some  of  thjm !  dear 
relatives  can  best  do  :  when  she  thinks 
how  cold  he  has  of  late  been,  —  how 
he  ivill  come  smelling  of  cigars, — 
how  he  won't  conform  to  the  usages 
(in  inonde,  and  has  neglected  all  the 
decencies  of  society,  —  how  she  often 
can't  understand  his  strange  rhapso- 
dies about  poetry,  painting,  and  the 
like,  nor  how  he  can  live  with  snch 
associates  as  those  who  seem  to  de- 
light him,  —  and  now  how  he  is  show- 
ing himself  a'-tually  unprincipled  and 
al);itting  his  horrid  father;  when  we 
consider  mither  pressing  sair,  and  all 
th  !se  points  in  mither's  favor,  I  don't 
tliink  we  can  order  Agnes  to  instant 
execution  for  the  resolution  to  which 
she  is  coming.  She  will  give  him  up 
—  she  will  give  him  up.  Grood  by, 
J^.iilip.  Good  by,  the  past.  Be  for- 
gotten, be  forgotten,  fond  words  spok- 
en in  not  unwilling  ears !  Be  still 
and  breathe  not,  eager  lips,  that  have 
troTubled  so  near  to  one  another! 
Unlock,  hands,  and  part  forever, 
that  seemed  to  be  formed  for  life's 
long  journey  !  Ah,  to  ])art  forever 
is  hard ;  bat  harder  and  more  humil- 
iating still  to  part  without  regret ! 


That  papa  and  mamma  had  influ- 
enced Miss  Twysdeu  in  her  behavior 
my  wife  and  I  could  easily  imagine, 
when  Philip,  in  his  wrath  and  grief, 
came  to  us  and  poured  out  the  feel- 
mgs  of  his  heart.  My  wife  is  a  re- 
positary  of  men's  secrets,  an  un- 
tiring consoler  and  comforter;  and 
she  knows  many  a  sad  story  which 
we  are  not  at  liberty  to  tell,  like  this 
one  of  which  this  person,  Mr.  Fir- 
min,  has  given  us  possession. 

"Father  and  mother's  orders," 
shouts  Philip,  "  I  dare  say,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis;  but  the  wish  was  father  to 
the  thought  of  parting,  and  it  was 
for  the  blackamoor's  parks  and  acres 
that  the  girl  jilted  me.  Look  here. 
I  told  you  just  now  that  I  slept  per- 
fectly" well  on  that  infernal  night  after 
I  had  said  farewell  to  her.  Well,  I 
did  n't.  It  was  a  lie.  I  walked  ever 
so  many  tiiiies  the  whole  length  of 
the  clitf,  from  Hove  to  Hottingdean 
almost,  and  then  went  to  bed  after- 
wards, and  slept  a  little  out  of  sheer 
fatigue.  And  as  I  was  passing  by 
Horizontal  Terrace  ( —  I  happened  to 
pass  by  there  two  or  three  times  ia 
the  moonlight,  like  a  great  jackass 
— )  you  know  those  verses  of  mine 
which  I  have  hummed  here  some- 
times 1 "  (hummed!  he  used  to  roar 
them!)  "'When  the  locks  of  bur- 
nished iro'd,  lady,  shall  to  silver  turn  ! ' 
Never  mind  the  rest.  You  know  the 
VTses  about  fidelity  and  old  age? 
She  was  .singing  them  on  that  night, 
to  that  negro.  And  I  heard  the  beg- 
gar's voice  say,  '  Bravo  ! '  through  the 
open  windows." 

"Ah,  Philip!  it  was  cruel,"  says 
my  wife,  heartily  pitying  our  friend's 
anguish  and  misfortune.  "  It  was 
cruel  indeed.  I  am  sure  we  can  feel 
for  you.  But  think  what  certain 
misery  a  marriage  with  snch  a  per- 
son would  have  been  !  Think  of  your 
warm  heart  given  away  forever  to  that 
heartless  creature." 

"  Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often 
warned  me  not  to  speak  ill  of  people  'i  " 
says  Laura's  husband. 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  crias 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


177 


Laura  in  a  transport.  "  I  try  and  do 
my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neigh- 
bors ;  but  the  worldliness  of  tliose  peo- 
ple shocks  me  so  that  I  can't  bear  to 
be  near  them.  They  are  so  utterly  tied 
and  bound  by  conventionalities,  so 
perfectly  convinced  of  their  own  exces- 
sive high-breeding,  that  they  seem  to 
me  more  odious  and  more  vulgar  than 
quite  low  people;  and  I'm  sure  Mr. 
Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister,  is  in- 
finitely more  ladylike  than  his  dreary 
aunt  or  either  of  his  supercilious  cous- 
ins ! "  Upon  my  word,  when  this  lady 
did  speak  her  mind,  there  was  no  mis- 
taking her  meaning. 

I  believe  Mr.  Firmin  took  a  consid- 
erable number  of  people  into  his  con- 
fidence regarding  this  love-afiair.  He 
is  one  of  those  individuals  who  can't 
keep  their  secrets  ;  and  when  hurt  he 
roars  so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can 
hear.  It  has  been  remarked  that  the 
sorrows  of  such  persons  do  not  endure 
very  long  ;  nor  surely  was  there  any 
great  need  in  this  instance  that  Phil- 
ip's heart  should  wear  a  lengthened 
mourning.  Erelong  he  smoked  his 
pipes,  he  played  his  billiards,  he  shout- 
ed his  songs  ;  he  rode  in  the  Park  for 
ihe  pleasure  of  severely  cutting  his 
aunt  and  cousins  when  their  open  car- 
riage passed,  or  of  riding  down  Cap- 
tain Woolcomb  or  his  cousin  Ring- 
wood,  should  cither  of  those  worthies 
come  in  his  way. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Lord  Ring- 
wood  came  to  town  for  his  accustomed 
spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to 
wait  upon  him,  and  was  announced 
to  his  Lordship  just  as  Talbot  Twys- 
den  and  Ringwood  his  son  were  tak- 
ing leave  of  their  noble  kinsman. 
Philip  looked  at  them  with  a  flashing 
eye  and  a  distended  nostril,  according 
to  his  swaggering  wont.  I  dare  say 
they  on  their  part  bore  a  very  mean 
and  hangdog  appearance ;  for  my 
Lord  laughed  at  their  discomfiture, 
and  seemed  immensely  amused  as  they 
slunk  out  of  the  door  when  Philip 
came  hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  family 
row.  Heard  all  about  it :  at  least,  their 
8* 


side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favor 
to  marry  my  niece,  having  another  wife 
already  ?  " 

"  Having  no  other  wife  already,  sir, 
—  though  my  dear  relations  were  anx-. 
ious  to  show  that  he  had." 

"  Wanted  your  money  ;  thirty  thou, 
sand  pound  is  not  a  trifle.  Ten  thou- 
sand apiece  for  those  children.  And 
no  more  need  of  any  confounded 
pinching  and  scraping,  as  they  hav^ 
to  do  at  Beannash  Street.  Affiiir  off 
between  you  and  Agnes  ?  Absurd  af, 
fair.     So  much  the  better." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Have  ten  thousand  apiece.  Would 
have  twenty  thousand  if  they  got 
yours.     Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

"  Quite." 

"  Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  un- 
derstand. Fine  property  here;  be« 
sides  the  West  India  rubbish.  Violent 
man,  —  so  people  tell  me.  Luckily 
Agnes  seems  a  cool,  easy-going  wo- 
man, and  must  put  up  with  the  rough 
as  well  as  the  smooth  in  marrying  a 
property  like  that.  Very  lucky  for  you 
that  that  woman  persists  there  was  no 
marriage  with  your  father.  Twysden 
says  the  Doctor  bribed  her.  Take  it 
he  's  not  got  much  money  to  bribe, 
unless  you  gave  some  of  yours." 

"  I  don't  bribe  people  to  bear  false 
witness,  my  Lord,  —  and  if —  " 

"  Don't  be  in  a  huff";  I  didn't  say 
so.  Twysden  says  so,  —  perhaps 
thinks  so.  When  people  are  at  law 
they  believe  anything  of  one  another." 

"  I  don't  know  what  other  people 
may  do,  sir.  If  I  had  another  man's 
money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I 
had  paid  him  back.  Had  my  share 
of  my  grandfather's  property  not  l)ccn 
lawfully  mine,  — and  for  a  few  hours 
I  thought  it  was  not,  — please  God,  I 
would  have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful 
owners,  —  at  least,  my  father  would." 

"  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  your  father  has  not  set- 
tled with  )'ou  ? " 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had 
been  rather  surprised  that  there  had 
been  no  settlement  between  him  anq 
his  father. 


178 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months, 
•ir.  I  am  not  under  any  apprehen- 
sion. I  get  my  dividends  regularly 
enough.  One  of  ray  grandfather  s 
trustees,  General  Baynes,  is  in  India. 
He  is  to  return  almost  immediately, 
or  we  should  have  sent  a  power  of  at- 
torney out  to  him.  There 's  no  hurry 
about  the  business." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and 
Lord  liingwood's  brother,  the  late 
Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  had  died 

Possessed  of  but  trifling  property  of 
is  own ;  but  his  wife  .had  brought 
him  a  fortune  of  sixty  thousand 
pounds,  which  was  settled  on  tlieir 
children,  and  in  the  names  of  trustees, 
—  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer,  and  Colonel 
Baynes,  an  East  India  officer,  and 
friend  of  Mrs.  Philip  liingwood's 
family.  Colonel  Baynes  had  been 
in  England  some  eight  years  before  ; 
and  Philip  remembered  a  kind  old 
gentleman  coming  to  see  him  at 
school,  and  leaving  tokens  of  his 
bounty  behind.  The  other  trustee, 
Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer  of  considerable 
county  reputation,  was  dead  long 
since,  having  left  his  affairs  in  an  in- 
volved condition.  During  the  trus- 
tee's absence  and  the  son's  minority, 
Philip's  father  received  the  dividends 
on  his  son's  property,  and  lii>crally 
spent  them  on  the  boy.  Indeed,  I  be- 
lieve that  for  some  little  time  at  college, 
and  during  his  first  journeys  abroad, 
Mr.  Pliilip  spent  rather  more  than 
the  income  of  his  maternal  inher- 
itance, being  freely  supplied  by  his 
father,  who  told  him  not  to  stint  him- 
self. He  was  a  sumptuous  m;in,  Dr. 
Firmin,  —  open-handed,  —  sub.'icrib- 
ing  to  many  charities,  —  a  lover  of 
solemn  good  cheer.  The  Doctor's 
dinners  and  the  Doctor's  equipages 
were  models  in  their  way ;  and  I  re- 
member the  sincere  respect  with  which 
my  uncle  the  Major  (the  family  guide 
in  such  matters)  used  to  speak  of  Dr. 
Firmin's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in  Lon- 
don, sir,"  he  would  say,  "  drove  bet- 
ter horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin.  Sir 
George  Warrendcr,  sir,  could  not 
give  a  better  dinner,  sir,  than  that  to 


which  we  sat  down  yesteiday."  And 
for  the  exercise  of  these  civic  virtues 
the  Doctor  had  the  hearty  respect  of 
the  good  Major. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other 
hand.  Lord  Ringwood  would  say  ; 
"  I  dined  with  the  fellow  once,  —  a 
swaggering  fellow,  sir ;  but  a  servile 
fellow.  The  way  he  bowed  and  flat- 
tered was  perfectly  absurd.  Those 
fellows  think  we  like  it,  —  and  we 
may.  Even  at  my  age,  I  like  flat- 
tery, —  any  quantity  of  it ;  and  not 
what  you  call  delicate,  but  strong, 
sir.  I  like  a  man  to  kneel  down  and 
kiss  my  shoestrings.  I  have  my 
own  opinion  of  him  afterwards,  but 
that  is  what  I  like,  —  what  all  men 
like ;  and  that  is  what  Firmin  gave 
in  quantities.  But  you  could  see 
that  his  house  was  monstrously  ex- 
pensive. His  dinner  was  excellent, 
and  you  saw  it  was  good  every  day, 
—  not  like  your  dinners,  my  good 
Maria ;  not  like  your  wines,  Twys- 
den,  which,  hang  it,  I  can't  swallow, 
unless  I  send  'em  in  myself.  Even 
at  my  own  house,  I  don't  give  that 
kind  of  wine  on  common  occasions 
which  Firmin  used  to  give.  I  drink 
the  best  myself,  of  course,  and  give  it 
to  some  who  know  ;  but  I  don't  give 
it  to  common  fellows,  who  come  to 
hunting-dinners,  or  to  girls  and  boys 
who  are  dancing  at  my  balls." 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Firmin  s  dinners  were 
very  handsome,  —  and  a  pretty  end 
came  of  the  handsome  dinners  ! " 
sighed  Mrs.Twysden. 

"  That  's  not  the  question  ;  I  am 
only  speaking  about  the  fellow's  meat 
and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good. 
And  it  's  my  opinion,  that  fellow 
will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever  he 
goes." 

I  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at 
one  of  these  feasts,  which  Lord  Ring- 
wood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met 
Philip's  trustee,  General  Baynes,  who 
had  just  arrived  from  India.  I  re- 
member now  the  smallest  details  of 
the  little  dinner,  —  the  brightness  of 
the  old  plate,  on  which  the  Doctor 
prided  tmnself,  and  the  quiet  comfort^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


179 


not  to  say  splendor,  of  the  entertain- 
ment. The  General  seemed  to  take 
a  great  liking  to  Philip,  whose  grand- 
father had  been  his  special  friend  and 
comrade  in  arms.  He  thought  he 
saw  something  of  Philip  Ringwood 
in  Philip  Firrain's  face. 

"Ah,  indeed  ! "  growls  Lord  Ring- 
wood. 

"  You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,"  says 
the  downright  General.  "  Never  saw 
a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking 
fellow  than  Philip  Ringwood." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  I  looked  pretty 
open  myself  forty  years  ago,"  said  my 
Lord  ;  "  now  I  'm  shut,  I  suppose. 
I  don't  see  the  least  likeness  in  this 
^oung  man  to  my  brother." 

"  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the 
century,"  whispers  the  host ;  "  it  is 
the  same  the  Prince  Regent  liked  so 
at  a  Mansion  House  dinner,  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago." 

"  Never  knew  anything  about  wine ; 
was  always  tippling  liquors  and 
punch.  What  do  you  give  for  this 
cherry,  Doctor  ?  " 

The  Doctor  sighed,  and  looked  up 
to  the  chandelier.  "  Drink  it  while 
it  lasts,  my  good  lord  ;  but  don't  ask 
wie  the  price.  The  fact  is,  I  don't 
Mke  to  say  what  I  gave  for  it." 

"  You  need  not  stint  yourself  in 
rhe  price  of  sherry.  Doctor,"  cries  the 
General  gayly ;  "you  have  but  one 
son,  and  he  has  a  fortune  of  his  own, 
as  I  happen  to  know.  You  have  n't 
dipped  it.  Master  Philip  "?  " 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  exceeded 
my  income  sometimes,  in  the  last 
three  years ;  but  my  father  has  helped 
me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  year ! 
Upon  my  word  !  When  I  was  a  sub, 
my  friends  gave  me  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  and  I  never  was  a  shilling  in 
debt !  What  are  men  coming  to 
DOW  ■? " 

"  If  doctors  drink  Prince  Regent's 
sherry  at  ten  guineas  a  dozen,  what 
can  you  expect  of  their  sons.  General 
Baynes  ?  "  grumbles  my  Lord. 

"  My  father  gives  you  his  best,  my 
Lord,'    says  Philip,  gayly ;  "  if  you 


know  of  any  better,  he  will  get  it  for 
you.  Si  non  his  utere  mecum  !  Please 
to  pass  me  that  decanter,  Pen  !  " 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem 
ill  pleased  at  the  young  man's  free- 
dom ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I 
can  remember  that  a  peculiar  silence 
and  anxiety  seemed  to  weigh  upon 
our  host,  —  upon  him  whose  face  was 
commonly  so  anxious  and  sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had 
made  many  voyages  to  Indian  climes 
before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavor, 
had  travelled  some  three  or  four  times 
round  the  Doctor's  polished  table, 
when  Brice,  his  man,  entered  with  a 
letter  on  his  silver  tray.  Perhaps 
Philip's  eyes  and  mine  exchanged 
glances  in  which  ever  so  small  a  scin- 
tilla of  mischief  might  sparkle.  The 
Doctor  often  had  letters  when  he  was 
entertaining  his  friends  ;  and  his  pa- 
tients had  a  knack  of  falling  ill  at 
awkward  times. 

"  Gracious  Heavens  !  "  cries  the 
Doctor,  when  he  read  the  despatch  — 
it  was  a  telegraphic  message.  "  The 
poor  Grand  Duke !  " 

"What  Grand  Duke?"  asks  the 
surly  lord  of  Ringwood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend,  — 
the  Grand  Duke  of  Groningen ! 
Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Pot- 
zendorff !  Has  sent  for  me.  I  prom- 
ised to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had  need 
of  me.  I  must  go !  I  can  save  the 
night-train  yet.  General !  our  visit 
to  the  City  must  be  deferred  till  my 
return.  Get  a  portmanteau,  Brice; 
and  call  a  cab  at  once.  Philip  will 
entertain  my  friends  for  the  evening. 
My  dear  lord,  you  won't  mind  an 
old  doctor  leaving  you  to  attend  an 
old  patient  ?  I  will  write  from  Gron- 
ingen. I  shall  be  there  on  Friday  morn- 
ing. Farewell,  gentlemen  !  Brice,  an- 
other bottle  of  that  sherry  !  I  pray, 
don't  let  anybody  stir !  God  bless 
you,  Philip,  my  boy  !  "  And  with 
this  the  Doctor  went  up,  took  his  son 
by  the  hand,  and  laid  the  other  very 
kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
Then  he  made  a  bow  round  the  table 
to  his  guests,  —  one  of  his  graceful 


180 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


bows,  for  which  he  was  famous.  I 
can  see  the  sad  smile  on  his  face  now, 
and  the  light  from  the  chandelier  over 
the  dining-table  glancing  from  his 
shining  forehead,  and  casting  deep 
shadows  on  to  his  cheek  from  his 
heavy  brows.  I 

The  departure  was  a  little  abrupt,  I 
and,  of  course,  cast  somewhat  of  a 
gloom  upon  the  company.  I 

"  .Vly  carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten,  I 
—  must  go  on  sitting  here,  I  suppose.  I 
C  »iitbtin(led  life  doctor's  must  be !  j 
Called  up  any  hour  in  the  night!  I 
(Jet  tht;ir  fees  !  Must  go  !  "  growled  , 
the  great  man  of  the  party.  | 

"  People  are  glad  enough  to  have  [ 
them  w  len  they  are  ill,  ray  Lord.     I 
think  1  have  heard  that  once  when  j 
you  \TCre  at  Ryde  ..." 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a 
little  shock  of  cold  water  had  fallen 
on  him ;   and  then  looked  at  Philip 
with  not  unfriendly  glances.    "  Treat- } 
ed  for   gout,  —  so  he    did.       Very  | 
well,  too  !  "  said  my  Lord  ;  and  wliis-  j 
pered,   not  inaudibly,  "  Cool  hand,  ' 
that  boy."  And  then  his  Lordship  fell  1 
to  talk  with  General  Barnes  about  [ 
his'  campaigning  and   his  early   ac- ! 
quaintance  with    his  own    brother,  i 
Philip's  grandfather.  I 

The  (jeneral  did  not  care  to  brag  ' 
about  his  own  feats  of  arms,  but  was 
loud  in  the  praises  of  his  old  comrade. 
Philip  was  pleased  to  hear  his  grand- 
sire  so  well  spoken  of.  The  (General 
had  known  Dr.  Firmin's  father  also, 
who  likewise  had  been  a  colonel  in  the 
fiimous  old  Peninsular  army.  "  A 
Tartar  that  fellow  was,  and  no  mis- 
take !  "  said  the  good  officer.  "  Your 
father  has  a  strong  look  of  him  ;  and 
you  have  a  glance  of  him  at  times. 
lint  you  remind  me  of  Philip  Ring- 
wood  not  a  little  ;  and  vou  could  not 
l)eIon'„'  to  a  better  man.'' 

"  Ha !  "  says  my  Lord.  There  had 
been  differences  between  him  and  his 
brother.  He  may  have  been  think- 
ing of  days  when  they  were  friends. 
Lord  Riiiguooil  now  graciously  asked 
if  General  Maynes  was  staying  in 
London  ?     But  the  General  had  only 


come  to  do  this  piece  of  business, 
which  must  now  be  delayed.  He 
was  too  poor  to  live  in  London.  He 
must  look  out  for  a  country  place, 
where  he  and  his  six  children  could 
live  cheaply.  "  Three  boys  at  school, 
and  one  at  college,  Mr.  Philip,  — you 
know  what  that  must  cost ;  though, 
thank  my  stars,  my  college  boy  does 
not  spend  nine  hundred  a  year.  Nine 
hundred  !  Where  should  we  be  if  he 
did  ?  "  In  fact,  the  days  of  nalwbs 
are  long  over,  and  the  General  had 
come  back  to  his  native  country  with 
only  very  small  means  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  great  family. 

\Vlien  my  Lord's  carriage  came,  he 
departed,  and  the  other  guests  pres- 
ently took  their  leave.  The  General, 
who  was  a  bachelor  for  the  nonce, 
remained  awhile,  and  we  three  prat- 
tled over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smok- 
ing-room. It  was  a  night  like  a  hun- 
dred I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how 
well  I  remember  it !  We  talked  about 
Philip's  future  prospects,  and  he 
communicated  his  intentions  to  us  in 
his  lordly  way.  As  for  practising  at 
the  bar :  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  in  reply 
to  General  Baynes's  queries,  "  he 
should  not  make  much  hand  of  that ; 
should  n't  if  he  were  ever  so  poor. 
He  had  his  own  money,  and  his  fa- 
ther's "  ;  and  he  condescended  to  say 
that  "he  might,  perhaps,  try  for  Par- 
liament should  an  eligible  opportu- 
nity offer."  "  Here  's  a  fellow  born 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth," 
says  the  General,  as  we  walked  away 
together.  "  A  fortune  to  begin  with ; 
a  fortune  to  inherit.  My  fortune  was 
two  thousand  pound*,  and  the  price 
of  my  two  first  commissions ;  and 
when  I  die  my  children  will  not  be 
quite  so  well  off  as  their  father  was 
when  he  began  !  " 

Having  p:irtcd  with  the  old  officer 
at  his  modest  sleeping-cjuarters  near 
his  club,  I  walked  to  my  own  home, 
little  thinking  that  yonder  cigar,  of 
which  I  had  shaken  some  of  the  ashes 
in  Philip's  smoking-room,  was  to  bo 
the  last  tobacco  I  ever  should  smoke 
there.      The  pipe   was   smoked  out. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


181 


The  wine  was  drunk.  When  that 
door  closed  on  me,  it  closed  for  the  last 
time,  —  at  least  was  never  more  to  ad- 
mit me  as  Philip's,  as  Dr.  Firmin's, 
guest  and  friend.  I  pass  the  jjlace 
often  now.  Mj  youth  comes  back  to 
me  as  I  gaze  at  those  blank,  shining 
windows.  I  see  myself  a  boy  and 
Philip  a  child  ;  and  his  fair  mother ; 
and  his  father,  the  hospitable,  the 
melancholy,  the  magnificent.  I  wish 
1  could  have  helped  him.  I  wish 
somehow  he  had  borrowed  money. 
He  never  did.  He  gave  me  his  often. 
I  have  never  seen  him  since  that  night 
when  his  own  door  closed  upon  him. 

On  thesecond  day  after  the  Doctor's 
departure,  as  I  was  at  breakfast  with 
my  family,  I  received  the  following 
letter :  — 

"  My  dear  Pendennis,  —  Could 
1  have  seen  you  in  private  on  Tues- 
day night,  I  might  have  warned  you 
of  the  calamity  which  was  hanging 
over  my  house.  But  to  what  good 
end  ■?  That  you  should  know  a  few 
weeks,  hours,  before  what  all  the 
world  will  ring  with  to-morrow "? 
Neither  you  nor  I,  nor  one  whom  we 
both  love,  would  have  been  the  hap- 
pier for  knowing  my  misfortunes  a 
few  hours  .sooner.  In  four-and-twen- 
ty  hours  every  club  in  London  will  be 
busy  with  talk  of  the  departure  of  the 
celebrated  Dr  Firmin,  —  the  wealthy 
Dr.  Firmin  ;  a  few  months  more  and 
(I  have  strict  a.n(l  conjideutial  reason 
to  believe)  hereditary  rank  would 
have  been  mine,  but  Sir  George  Fir- 
min would  have  been  an  insolvent 
man,  and  his  son  Sir  Philip  a  beg- 
gar. Perhaps  the  thought  of  this 
honor  has  been  one  of  the  reasons 
which  has  determined  me  on  expatri- 
ating myself  sooner  than  I  otherwise 
needed  to  have  done. 

"  George  Fiimin,  the  honored,  the  | 
wealthy  physician,  and  his  son  a  beg-  | 
gar''  I  see  you  are  stivrtled  at  the  ! 
news !  You  wonder  how,  with  a  i 
great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible 
expenses,  such  ruin  should  have  come  . 
upon  me  —  upon  him.     It  has  seemed 


as  if  for  years  past  Fate  has  been  de- 
termined to  make  war  upon  George 
Brand  Firmin  ;  and  who  can  battle 
against  Fate?  A  man  universally 
admitted  to  be  of  good  judgment,  I 
have  embarked  in  mercantile  specula- 
tions the  most  promising.  Every- 
thing upon  which  I  laid  my  hand  has 
crumbled  to  ruin  ;  but  I  can  say  with 
the  Roman  bard,  '  Ivipavidum  ferient 
j-uiua.'  And,  almost  penniless,  al- 
most aged,  an  exile  driven  from  my 
country,  I  seek  another  where  I  do 
not  despair,  —  I  even  have  a  firm  Mief 
that  I  shall  be  enabled  to  repair  my 
shattered  fortunes !  My  race  has 
never  been  deficient  in  courage,  and 
Philip  and  Philip's  father  must  use 
all  theirs,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  face 
the  dark  times  which  menace  them. 
Si  celeres  quatit  ptnnas  Fortuna,  we 
must  resign  what  she  gave  us,  and 
bear  our  calamity  with  unshaken 
hearts ! 

"  There  is  a  man,  I  own  to  you, 
whom  I  cannot,  I  must  not  face. 
General  Baynes  has  just  come  from 
India,  with  but  very  small  savings,  I 
fear ;  and  tlie.se  are  jeopardized  by  his 
imprudence  and  my  most  cruel  and 
unexpected  misiortune.  I  need  not 
tell  you  that  my  all  would  have  been 
my  boy's.  My  will,  made  long  since, 
will  be  found  in  ths'-tortoise-shell  sec- 
retaire standing  in  my  consulting- 
room  under  the  picture  of  Abraham 
ofibring  up  Isaac.  In  it  you  will  see 
that  everything,  except  annuities  to 
old  and  deserving  ser\  ants  and  a  leg- 
acy to  one  excellent  and  faithful  wo- 
man whom  I  own  I  have  wronged,  — 
my  all,  which  once  Avas  considerable, 
is  left  to  VI 11  hoy. 

"  I  am  now  worth  less  than  noth- 
ing, and  have  compromised  I'hilip's 
property  along  with  my  own.  As  a 
man  of  business,  General  Baynes, 
Colonel  Ilingwood's  old  companion 
in  arms,  was  culpably  careless,  and  I 
—  alas  !  that  I  must  own  it  —  de- 
ceived him.  Being  the  only  surviv- 
ing trustee  (Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's 
other  trustee  was  an  unpriiicij)led  at- 
torney who  has  been  long  dead),  Gen- 


182 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


eral  B.  signed  a  paper  authorizing,  as 
he  imagined,  my  bankers  to  receive 
Philip's  dividends,  but,  in  fact,  giv- 
ing me  the  power  to  dispose  of  the 
capital  sum.  On  my  honor,  as  a 
man,  as  a  gentleman,  as  a  father, 
Pendennis,  I  hoped  to  replace  it !  I 
took  it ;  I  embarked  it  in  sijeculations 
in  which  it  sank  down  with  ten  times 
the  amount  of  my  own  private  prop- 
erty. Half-year  after  half-year,  with 
straitened  means  and  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  to  myself,  my  poor  boy  has 
had  his  dividend  ;  and  ne  at  least  has 
never  known  what  was  want  or  anx- 
iety until  now.  Want  ?  Anxiety  ? 
Pray  Heaven  he  never  may  suffer  the 
sleepless  anguish,  the  racking  care 
which  has  pursued  me !  '  Post  equitem 
sedet  atra  cura,'  our  favorite  poet  says. 
Ah  !  how  truly,  too,  does  he  remark. 
'  Patrue  quis  exul  se  quoque  fuqit  ?  ' 
Think  you  where  1  go  grief  and  re- 
morse will  not  follow  me  1  They 
will  never  leave  me  until  I  shall  re- 
turn to  this  country,  —  for  that  I  shall 
return,  my  heart  tells  me,  —  until  I 
can  reimburse  General  Baynes,  who 
stands  indebted  to  Philip  through  his 
incaatiousness  and  my  overpowering 
necessity ;  and  my  heart  —  an  erring 
but  fond  father's  heart — tells  me  that 
my  boy  will  not  eventually  lose  a 
penny  by  my  misfortune. 

"  I  own,  between  ourselves,  that 
this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Gr6nint;en  was  a  pretext  which  I  put 
forward.  You  will  hear  of  me  ere- 
long from  the  place  whither  for  some 
time  past  I  have  determined  on  bend- 
ing my  steps  I  placed  £  100  on  Sat- 
urday, to  Philip's  credit,  at  his  bank- 
er's. I  take  little  more  than  that 
sum. with  me;  depressed,  yet /i///  qf 
hope  ;  having  done  wrong,  yet  deter- 
mined to  retrieve  it,  and  vowinq  that 
ere  I  die  my  poor  boy  shall  not  have 
to  blush  at  bearing  the  name  of 

"George  Brand  Firmin. 

"  Good  by,  dear  Philip !  Your  old 
friend  will  tell  you  of  my  misfortunes. 
When  I  write  again,  it  will  be  to  tell 
you  where  to  address  me ;  and  wher- 


ever I  am,  or  whatever  misfortunes 
oppress  me,  think  of  me  always  as 
your  fond 

"  Father." 

I  had  scarce  read  this  awful  letter 
when  Philip  Firmin  himself  came  into 
our  breakfast-room  looking  very  much 
disturbed. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SAMARITANS. 


The  children  trotted  up  to  their 
friend  with  outstretched  hands  and 
their  usual  smiles  of  welcome.  Phil- 
ip patted  their  heads,  and  sat  down 
with  very  woe-begone  aspect  at  the 
family  table.  "  Ah,  friends,"  said  he, 
"  do  you  know  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  do,"  said  Laura,  sadly, 
who  has  ever  compassion  for  others' 
misfortunes. 

"  What !  is  it  all  over  the  town 
already  1 "  a.sked  poor  Philip. 

"  We  have  a  letter  from  your 
father  this  morning."  And  we 
brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed 
him  the  affectionate  special  message 
for  himself. 

'*  His  last  thought  was  for  you, 
Philip !  "  cries  Laura.  "  See  here, 
those  last  kind  words  !  " 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not 
untrue,  what  is  written  here  :  but  it 
is  not  all  the  truth."  And  Philip 
Firmin  dismayed  us  by  the  intelli- 
gence which  he  proceeded  to  give. 
There  was  an  execution  in  the  house 
in  Old  Parr  Street.  A  hundred 
clamorous  creditors  had  already  ap- 
peared there.  Before  going  away, 
the  Doctor  had  taken  considerable 
sums  from  those  dangerous  financiers 
to  whom  he  had  been  of  late  resorting. 
They  were  in  possession  of  number- 
less lately  signed  bills,  upon  which 
the  desperate  man  had  raised  money. 
He  had  professed  to  share  with  Philip, 
but  he  had  taken  the  great  share,  and 
left  Philip  two  hundred  pounds  of  his 
own  money.  All  the  rest  was  gone. 
All  Philip's  itock  had  been  sold  out. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


183 


The  father's  fraud  had  made  him 
master  of  the  trustee's  signature : 
and  Philip  Firmin,  reputed  to  be  so 
wealthy,  was  a  beggar,  in  my  room. 
Luckily  he  had  few,  or  very  trifling, 
debts.  Mr.  Philip  had  a  lordly  im- 
patience of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a 
good  bachelor  income,  had  paid  for 
all  his  pleasures  as  he  enjoyed  them. 

Well !  He  must  work.  A  young 
man  ruined  at  two-and-twenty,  with  a 
couple  of  hundred  pounds  yet  in  his 
pocket,  hardly  knows  that  he  is  ruin- 
ed. He  will  sell  his  horses,  —  live  in 
chambers,  —  has  enough  to  go  on  for 
a  year.  "  When  I  am  very  hard  put 
to  it,"  says  Philip,  "  I  will  come  and 
dine  with  the  children  at  one.  I  dare 
say  you  have  n't  dined  much  at 
Williams's  in  the  Old  Bailey  1  You 
can  get  a  famous  dinner  there  for  a 
shilling,  —  beef,  bread,  potatoes,  beer, 
and  a  penny  for  the  waiter."  Yes, 
Philip  seemed  actually  to  enjoy  his 
discomfiture.  It  was  long  since  we 
had  seen  him  in  such  spirits.  "  The 
weight  is  oflF  my  mind  now.  It  has 
been  throttling  me  for  some  time 
past.  Without  understanding  why 
or  wherefore,  I  have  always  been  look- 
ing out  for  tliis.  My  poor  fother  had 
ruin  written  in  his  face  :  and  when 
those  bailiffs  made  their  appearance 
in  Old  Parr  Street  yesterday,  1  felt  as 
if  I  had  known  them  before.  I  had 
seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my  dreams." 

•'  That  unlucky  General  Baynes, 
when  he  accepted  your  mother's  trust, 
took  it  with  its  consequences.  If  the 
sentry  falls  asleep  on  his  post,  he 
must  pay  the  penalty,"  says  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis,  very  severely. 

"  Great  powers,  you  would  not 
have  me  come  down  on  an  old  man 
with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them 
all  '  "  cries  Philip. 

"  No  :  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do 
that,"  says  my  wife,  looking  exceed- 
ingly pleased. 

"  If  men  accept  trusts  they  must 
fulfil  them,  my  dear,"  cries  the  master 
of  the  house. 

"  And  1  must  make  that  old  gen- 
tlemian  suffer  for  my  father's  wrong  ? 


If  I  do,  may  I  starve  !  there !  "  cries 
Philip. 

"  And  so  that  poor  Little  Sister  has 
made  her  sacrifice  in  vain  !  "  sighed 
my  wife.  "As  for  the  father — O 
Arthur !  T  can't  tell  you  how  odious 
that  man  was  to  me.  There  was 
sometliing  dreadful  about  him.  And 
in  his  manner  to  women  —  oh  J  —  " 

"  If  he  had  been  a  black  draught, 
my  dear,  you  could  not  have  shud- 
dered more  naturally." 

"Well,  he  was  horrible;  and  I 
know  Philip  will  be  better  now  he  is 
gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin. 
Give  them  but  the  beloved  objects, 
and  poverty  is  a  trifling  sorrow  to 
bear.  As  for  Philip,  he,  as  we  have 
said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been  for 
years  past.  The  Doctor's  flight  oc- 
casions not  a  little  club  talk :  but, 
now  he  is  gone,  many  people  see  quite 
well  that  they  were  aware  of  his  in- 
solvency, and  always  knew  it  must 
end  so.  The  case  is  told,  is  canvassed, 
is  exaggerated  as  such  cases  will  be. 
I  dare  say  it  forms  a  week's  talk. 
But  people  know  that  poor  Philip  is 
his  father's  largest  creditor,  and  eye  the 
young  man  with  no  unfriendly  looks 
when  he  comes  to  his  club  after  his 
mishap, —  with  burning  cheeks,  and  a 
tingling  sense  of  shame,  imagining 
that  all  the  world  will  point  at  and 
avoid  him  as  the  guilty  fugitive's  son. 

No :  the  world  takes  very  little 
heed  of  his  misfortune.  One  or  two 
old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him 
than  before.  A  ftw  say  his  ruin,  and 
his  obligation  to  work,  will  do  him 
good.  Only  a  very  very  tew  avoid 
him,  and  look  unconscious  as  he 
passes  tlicm  by.  Amongst  these  cold 
countenances,  you,  of  course,  will  rec- 
ognize the  faces  of  the  whole  Twys- 
den  family.  Three  statues,  with 
marble  eyes,  could  not  look  more 
stony-calm  than  Aunt  Twysdcn  and 
her  two  daughters,  as  they  pas.s  in  the 
stately  barouche.  The  gentlemen 
turn  red  when  they  sec  Philip.  It  is 
rather  late  times  for  Uncle  Twysdea 
to  begin  blushing,  to  be  sure.    "  Hang 


184 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the    fellow !  he  will,   of   course,    be 
coming  for  money.     Dawkins,  I  am 
not  at  home,  mind,  when  young  Mr. 
Firrain  calls."     So  says  Lord  King- 
wood,  regarding  Philip  fallen  among 
thieves.      Ah,     thanks    to    Heaven, 
travellers  find  Samaritans  as  well  as 
Levites  on  life's  hard  way  !     Philip 
told  us  with  much  humor  of  a  rencon- 
tre which  he  had  had  with  his  cousin, 
llini^wood    Twysden,     in    a    public  j 
place.     Twysden  was  enjoying  him-  ! 
.self  with   some  young  clerks  of  his  I 
office;  but  as  Philip  advanced  upon  j 
him,  assuming  his  fiercest  scowl  and 
moit  hectoring  manner,  the  other  lost  1 
heart,    and   fled.     And   no    wonder,  j 
"  Do  you  supjX)se,"  says   Twysden,  j 
"  [  will  willingly  sit  in  the  same  room  : 
with  that  cad,  after   the  manner  in 
whicli    he   has   treated    my   family ! 
No,  sir!"     And  so  the  tall  door  in 
fijaunash  Street  is  to  open  for  Philip 
Firmin  no  more.  j 

The  tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street 
flies  open  readily  enough  for  another  , 
gentleman.      A    splendid    cab-horse  | 
reins  up  before  it  every  day.     A  pair 
of  varnished  boots  leap  out  of  the  cab,  ' 
and  spring  up  the  broad  stairs,  where 
somebody  is  waiting  with  a  smile  of 
genteel   welcome,  —  the   same  smile,  : 
—  on    the     same     sofa, — the    same' 
mamma  at  her  table  writing  her  let-  ! 
ters.     And   beautiful   IwuqueLs  from  \ 
Covent   Garden   decorate   the   room.  ' 
And  after  half  an  hour  mamma  goes  | 
out  to  speak  to  the  housekeeper,  iwis 
compreniiz.     And  there  is  nothing  par- 
ticularly new  under  the  sun.     It  will 
shine   to-morrow  upon  pretty  much 
the  sime  flowers,   sports,   pastimes, 
&c.,  which  it  illuminated  yesterday. 
And   when  your   love-making    davs 
are  over,  miss,  and  you  are  married, 
and  ailvantageously  established,  shall 
not    your  little   sisters,    now  in  the 
nursery,   trot    down   and   play   their 
little  games  ?     ^ould  you,  on  your 
conscience,     now,  —  you     who     are 
rather  inclined  to  consider  Miss  Agnes 
Twysden's    conduct    as    heartless,  — 
would  you,  I  say,  have  her  cr^-  her 
pretty  eyes  out  about  a  young   man 


who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for 
whom  she  never  did  care  much  her- 
self, and  who  is  now,  moreover,  a 
beggar,  with  a  ruined  and  disgraced 
father  and  a  doubtful  legitimacy  ? 
Absurd !  That  dear  girl  is  like  a 
beautiful  fragrant  bower-room  at  the 
"  Star  and  Garter  "  at  Richmond, 
with  honeysuckles  mayhap  trailing 
round  the  windows,  from  which  you 
behold  one  of  the  most  lovely  and 
pleasant  of  wood  and  river  scenes. 
The  tables  are  decorated  with  flow- 
ers, rich  wine-cups  sparkle  on  the 
board,  and  Captain  Jones's  party  have 
everything  they  can  desire.  Their 
dinner  over,  and  that  company  gone, 
the  same  waiters,  the  same  flowers, 
the  same  cups  and  crystals,  array 
themselves  for  Mr.  Brown  and  his 
party.  Or,  if  you  won't  have  Agnes 
Twysden  compared  to  the  "  Star  and 
Garter  Tavern,"  which  must  admit 
mixed  company,  liken  her  to  the 
chaste  moon  who  shines  on  shepherds 
of  all  complexions,  swarthy  or  fair. 

When  oppressed  by  superior  odds, 
a  commander  is  forced  to  retreat,  we 
like  him  to  show  his  skill  by  carry- 
ing oflT  his  guns,  treasure,  and  camp 
equipages.  Doctor  Firmin,  beaten 
by  fortune  and  compelled  to  fly, 
showed  quite  a  splendid  skill  and 
coolness  in  his  manner  of  decamping, 
and  left  the  very  smallest  amount  of 
spoils  in  the  h  mds  of  the  victorious 
enemy.  His  wines  had  been  famous 
amongst  the  grave  epicures  \vith 
whom  he  dined  :  he  used  to  boast, 
like  a  worthy  lion  vivani  who  knows 
the  value  of  wine-conversation  after 
ditiner,  of  the  quantities  which  he 
possessed,  and  the  rare  bins  which  he 
had  in  store ;  but  when  the  execu- 
tioners came  to  arrange  his  sale,  there 
was  found  only  a  beggarly  account 
of  empty  bottles,  and  I  fear  some  of 
the  unprincipled  creditors  put  in  a 
great  quantity  of  bad  liquor  which 
they  endeavored  to  foist  off^  on  the 
public  as  the  genuine  and  carefully 
selected  stock  of  a  well  known  con- 
noisseur. News  of  this  dishonest  pro- 
ceeding reached  Dr.  Firmin  presently 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


185 


in  his  retreat ;  ami  he  showed  by  his 
letter  a  generous  and  manly  indigna- 
tion at  the  manner  in  which  his  cred- 
itors had  tampered  with  his  honest 
name  and  reputation  as  a  bon  rivaut. 
He  have  bad  wine !  For  shame ! 
He  had  the  best  from  the  best  wine- 
n)enhant,  and  paid,  or  rather  owed, 
tlie  best  prices  for  it ;  for  of  late 
years  the  Doctor  had  paid  no  bills  at 
all :  and  the  wine-merchant  appeared  in 
quite  a  handsome  group  of  figures  in 
his  schedule.  In  like  manner  his  books 
were  pawned  to  a  book-auctioneer ; 
and  Brice,  the  butler,  had  a  bill  of 
sale  for  the  furniture.  Finn  in  re- 
treated, we  will  riot  say  with  the  hon- 
ors of  war,  but  as  little  harmed  as 
possible  by  defeat.  Did  the  enemy 
want  the  plunder  of  his  city  'i  lie 
had  smuggled  almost  all  his  valuable 
goods  over  the  wall.  Did  they  desire 
his  sliips  ?  He  had  sunk  them  :  and 
when  at  length  the  conquerors  poured 
into  his  stronghold,  he  was  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  their  shot.  Don't 
we  often  hear  still  that  Nana  Sahib 
is  alive  and  exceedingly  comfortable  1 
We  do  not  love  him  ;  but  we  can't 
help  having  a  kind  of  admiration  for 
that  slippery  fugitive  who  has  escaped 
from  the  dreadful  jaws  of  the  lion. 
In  a  word,  when  Firmin's  furniture 
came  to  be  sold,  it  was  a  marvel  how 
little  his  creditors  benefited  by  the 
sale.  Contemptuous  brokers  de- 
clared there  never  was  such  a  shal)- 
by  lot  of  goods.  A  friend  of  the 
house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his 
mother's  picture  for  a  few  guineas ; 
and  as  for  the  Doctor's  own  state  por- 
trait, I  am  afi'aid  it  went  for  a  few 
shillings  only,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
roar  of  Hebrew  laughter.  I  saw  in 
Wardour  Street,  not  long  after,  the 
doctor's  sideboard,  and  what  dealers 
cheerfully  call  the  sarcophagus  cel- 
laret !  Poor  Doctor  !  his  wine  was 
all  drunken  ;  his  meat  was  eaten  up ; 
but  his  own  body  had  slipj)ed  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  hook-beaked  birds  of 
prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  under- 
tones, innocently  believing  that  the 


young  people  round  af  -  /at  us  were  tak- 
ing no  heed  of  our  tali,.  But  in  a  lull 
of  the  conversation,  I'lr.  Pendennis 
junior,  who  had  always  been  a  ft-iend 
to  Philip,  broke  out  with,  —  "  Philip ! 
if  you  are  so  vmj  poor,  you  '11  be  hun- 
gr\-,  }ou  know,  and  you  may  have  my 
]>icce  of  bread  and  jam.  And  I  don't 
want  it,  mamma,"  he  added ;  "  and 
you  know  Philip  has  often  and  often 
given  me  thingj." 

Philip  stoop.3d  down  and  kissed 
this  good  little  Samaritan.  "I'm 
not  hun<rry,  Arty  my  boy,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I  'ni  not  so  poor  but  I  have  got 
—  look  here  —  a  tine  nf  w  shilhng  foi 
Arty !  " 

"  O  Philip,  Philip  /  "*  /ied  mam- 
ma. 

"  Don't  take  the  m  uv,  Arthur," 
cried  papa. 

And  the  boy,  with  a  rueful  faa  but 
a  manly  heart,  prepared  to  give  back 
the  coin.  "It's  quite  a  new  one; 
and  it 's  a  very  pretty  one :  but  I 
won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank  you,"  he 
said,  turning  very  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  i* 
to  the  cabman,"  said  Philip. 

"  Keejjing  a  caf>  all  this  while  f 
O  Philip,  Philip  !  "  again  cries  mam-- 
ma  the  economist. 

"  Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my 
dear  lady,"  says  Philip,  very  gravely. 
"  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go  io. 
When  I  am  set  in  for  being  ruined, 
you  shall  see  what  a  screw  1  will  be- 
come!  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Brandon, 
who  will  be  very  uneasy,  poor  dear, 
until  she  knows  the  worst. 

"  O  Philip,  1  should  like  so  to  g(^ 
with  j'ou !  cries  Laura.  "  Pray, 
give  her  our  very  best  regards  and 
respects." 

"  Merri  !  "  said  the  j'onng  man, 
and  squeezed  Mrs.  Pendennis's  hand 
in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take 
your  message  to  her,  Laura.  J'aime 
qu'on  I'aime,  satvz-vous  ?  " 

"  That  means,  I  love  those  who 
love  her,"  cries  little  Laura  ;  "  but,  I 
don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  per- 
son afterwards  to  her  paternal  confi- 
dant, "  that  I  like  all  p<ioplo  to  lov« 


186 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


my  mamma.  That  is,  I  don't  like 
her  to  like  them,  papa, — only  you 
may,  papa,  and  Eihel  may,  and  Ar- 
thur may,  and,  I  think,  Philip  may, 
now  he  is  poor  and  quite,  quite  alone, 
—  and  we  will  take  care  of  him,  won't 
we  ?  And,  I  think,  I  '11  buy  him 
something  with  my  money  which 
Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"  And  I  '11  give  him  my  money," 
cries  a  boy. 

"And  I  '11  div  him  my  —  my  —  " 
Psha !  what  matters  what  the  little 
sweet  lips  prattled  in  their  artless 
kindness  1  But  the  soft  words  of  love 
and  pity  smote  the  mother's  heart 
with  an  exquisite  pang  of  gratitude 
and  joy ;  and  I  know  where  her 
thanks  were  paid  for  those  tender 
words  and  thoughts  of  her  little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  prom- 
ise to  come  to  dinner,  and  also  to  re- 
member not  to  take  a  cab,  —  which 
promise  Mr.  Firmin  had  not  much 
difficulty  in  executing,  for  he  had  but 
a  kw  hundred  yards  to  walk  across 
the  Park  from  his  club ;  and  I  must 
say  that  my  wife  took  a  special  care 
of  our  dinner  that  day,  preparing  for 
Philip  certain  dishes  which  she  knew 
he  liked,  and  enjoining  the  butler  of 
the  establishment  (who  also  happened 
to  be  the  owner  of  the  house)  to  fetch 
from  his  cellar  the  very  choicest  wine 
in  his  possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our 
friend  and  his  boisterous,  impetuous, 
generous  nature.  When  Philip  was 
moved,  he  called  to  all  the  world  to 
witness  his  emotion.  When  he  was 
annry,  his  enemies  were  all  the  rogues 
and  scoundrels  in  the  world.  He 
vowed  he  would  hare  no  mercy  on 
them,  and  desired  all  his  acquaintances 
to  participate  in  his  anger.  How 
could  such  an  open  -  mouthed  son 
have  had  such  a  close-spoken  father  ? 
I  dare  say  you  have  seen  very  well- 
bred  young  people,  the  children  of 
vulgar  and  ill-bred  parents ;  the  swag- 
gering father  have  a  silent  son ;  the 
loud  mother  a  modest  daughter.  Our 
friend  is  not  Amadis  or  Sir  Charles 
GrandisoQ ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for 


a  moment  as  a  person  to  be  revered 
or  imitated;  but  try  to  draw  him 
faithfully,  and  as  nature  made  him. 
As  nature  made  him,  so  he  was.  I 
don't  think  he  tried  to  improve  him- 
self much.  Perhaps  few  people  do. 
They  suppose  they  do ;  and  you 
read,  in  apologetic  memoirs,  and  fond 
biographies,  how  this  man  cured  his 
bad  temper,  and  t'other  worked  and 
strove  until  he  grew  to  be  almost 
faultless.  Very  well  and  good,  my 
good  people.  You  can  learn  a  lan- 
guage ;  you  can  master  a  science ;  I 
have  heard  of  an  old  square-toes  of 
sixty  who  learned,  by  study  and  in- 
tense application,  very  satisfactorily 
to  dance ;  but  can  you,  by  taking 
thought,  add  to  your  moral  stature  ? 
Ah  me  !  the  doctor  who  preaches  is 
only  taller  than  most  of  us  by  the 
height  of  the  pulpit:  and  when  he 
steps  down,  I  dare  say  he  cringes  to 
the  duchess,  growls  at  his  children, 
scolds  his  wife  about  the  dinner.  All 
is  vanity,  look  you :  and  so  the 
preacher  is  vanity,  too. 

Well,  then,  I  must  again  say  that 
Philip  roared  his  griefs :  he  shouted 
his  laughter:  he  bellowed  his  ap- 
plause :  he  was  extravagant  in  his 
humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  ad- 
miration of  his  friends  and  contempt 
for  his  enemies  :  I  dare  say  not  a  just 
man,  but  I  have  met  juster  men  not 
half  so  honest ;  and  certainly  not  a 
faultless  man,  though  I  know  better 
men  not  near  so  good.  So,  I  believe, 
my  wife  thinks  :  else  why  should  she 
be  so  fond  of  him  ?  Did  we  not  know 
boys  who  never  went  out  of  bounds, 
and  never  were  late  for  school,  and 
never  made  a  false  concord  or  quanti- 
ty, and  never  came  under  the  ferule  ; 
and  others  who  were  always  playing 
truant,  and  blundering,  and  being 
whipped  ;  and  yet,  somehow,  was  not 
Master  Naughtyboy  better  liked  than 
Master  Goodchild"?  When  Master 
Naughtyboy  came  to  dine  with  us  on 
the  first  day  of  his  ruin,  he  bore  a 
face  of  radiant  happiness,  —  he 
laughed,  he  bounced  about,  he  ca- 
ressed the  children;  now  he  took  a 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


187 


couple  on  his  knees ;  now  he  tossed 
the  baby  to  the  ceiling ;  now  he 
sprawled  over  a  sofa,  and  now  lie  rode 
upon  a  chair  ;  never  was  a  penniless 
gentleman  more  cheerful.  As  fur  his 
dinner,  Phil's  appetite  was  always 
fine,  but  on  this  day  an  ogre  could 
scarcely  play  a  more  terrible  knife 
and  fork.  He  asked  for  more  and 
more,  until  his  entertainers  wondered 
to  behold  him.  "  Dine  for  to-day  and 
to-morrow  too ;  can't  expect  such 
fare  as  this  every  day.  you  know, 
This  claret,  how  good  it  is  !  May  I 
pack  some  up  in  paper,  and  take  it 
home  with  mc  ? "  The  children 
roared  with  laughter  at  this  admira- 
ble idea  of  carrying  home  wine  in  a 
sheet  of  paper.  1  don't  know  that  it 
is  always  at  the  best  jokes  that  ciiil- 
dren  laugh :  — children  and  wise  men 
too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves, 
and  freed  from  the  company  of  ser- 
vants and  children,  our  friend  told 
us  the  cause  of  his  gayety.  "By 
George !  "  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  be- 
ing ruined  to  find  such  good  people  in 
the  world.  My  dear,  kind  Laura,"  — 
here  the  gentleman  brushes  his  eyes 
with  his  fist,  —  "  it  was  as  much  as  I 
could  do  this  morning  to  prevent  my- 
self from  hugging  you  in  my  arms, 
you  were  so  generous,  and  —  and  so 
kind,  and  so  tender,  and  so  good,  by 
George.  And  after  leaving  you, 
where  do  you  think  I  went  1 " 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says 
Laura. 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  his 
eyes  again,  and  tossing  off  a  great 
bumper  of  wine,  "  I  went  to  her,  of 
course.  I  think  she  is  the  best  friend 
I  have  in  the  world.  The  old  man 
was  out,  and  I  told  her  about  every- 
thing that  had  happened.  And  what 
do  you  think  she  has  done  ?  She 
says  she  has  been  expecting  me  —  she 
has ;  and  she  has  gone  and  fitted  up 
a  room  with  a  nice  little  bed  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  with  everything  as 
neat  and  trim  as  possible;  and  she 
begged  and  prayed  I  would  go  and 
stay  with  her,  —  and  I  said  I  would. 


to  please  her.  And  then  she  takes 
me  down  to  her  room  ;  and  she  jumps 
up  to  a  cupboard,  which  she  unlocks ; 
and  she  opens  and  takes  three-and- 
twenty  pounds  out  of  a  —  out  of  a 
tea  —  out  of  a  tea-caddy,  —  confound 
mc !  —  and  she  says,  '  Here,  Philip,' 
she  says,  and  —  Boo  !  what  a  fool  I 
am ! "  and  here  the  orator  fairly 
broke  down  in  his  speech. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN       WHICH       PHILIP       SHOWS       HIS 
METTLE. 

When  the  poor  Little  Sister  prof- 
fered her  mite,  her  all,  to  Philip,  I 
dare  say  some  sentimental  passages 
occurred  between  them  which  are 
much  too  trivial  to  be  narrated.  No 
doubt  her  pleasure  would  have  been 
at  that  moment  to  give  him  not  only 
that  gold  which  she  had  been  saving 
up  against  rent-day,  but  the  spoons, 
the  furniture,  and  all  the  valuables  of 
the  house,  including,  perhaps,  J.  J.'s 
bricabrac,  cabinets,  china,  and  so 
forth.  To  perform  a  kindness,  an  act 
of  self-sacrifice ;  —  are  not  these  the 
most  delicious  privileges  of  female 
tenderness  1  Philip  checked  his  little 
friend's  enthusiasm.  He  showed  her 
a  purse  full  of  money,  at  which  sight 
the  poor  little  soul  was  rather  dis- 
appointed. He  magnified  the  value 
of  his  horses,  which,  according  to 
Philip's  calculation,  were  to  bring 
him  at  least  two  hundred  pounds 
more  than  the  stock  which  he  had  al- 
ready in  hand ;  and  the  master  of 
such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was  forced  to 
confess,  had  no  need  to  despair.  In- 
deed, she  had  never  in  her  life  pos- 
sessed the  half  of  it.  Her  kind  dear 
little  offer  of  a  home  in  her  house  he 
would  accept  sometimes,  and  with 
gratitude.  Well,  there  was  a  little 
consolation  in  that.  In  a  moment 
that  active  little  housekeeper  saw  the 
room  ready ;  flowers  on  the  mantel, 
piece  ;  his  looking-glass,  which  her  fa- 
ther could  do  quite  well  with  the  little 


188 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


one,  as  he  was  always  shaved  by  the 
barber  now ;  the  quilted  counterpane, 
which  she  had  herself  made :  —  I 
know  not  what  more  improvements 
she  devised ;  and  I  fear  that  at  the 
idea  of  having  Philip  with  her,  this 
little  thing  was  as  extravagantly  and 
unreasonably  happy  as  we  have  just 
now  seen  Philip  to  be.  What  was 
that  last  dish  which  Paetus  and  Ariia 
shared  in  common  ?  I  have  lost  my 
Lempriere's  dictionary  (that  treasury 
of  my  youth),  and  forget  whether  it 
was  a  cold  dagger  au  naturel,  or  a 
dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  liomaine,  of 
which  they  partook  ;  but,  whatever  it 
was,  she  smiled,  and  delightedly 
received  it,  happy  to  share  the  beloved 
one's  fortune. 

"  Yes  :  Philip  would  come  home  to 
his  Little  Sister  sometimes :  sometimes 
of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to 
church  on  Sunday,  as  he  used  to  do 
when  lie  was  a  boy  at  school.  "  But 
then,  you  know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is 
law ;  study  is  study.  I  must  devote 
my  whole  energies  to  my  work, —  get 
np  very  early." 

"  Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear," 
interposes  Mr.  Philip's  soft  judicious 
friend. 

"  There  must  be  no  trifling  with 
work,"  says  Philip,  with  awful  gravity. 
"  There  's  Benton  the  Judge  :  Benton 
and  Burbage,  vou  know." 

"  O,  Benton  and  Burbage  !  " 
whispers  the  Little  Sister,  not  a  little 
bewildered. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a 
judge  Ijcfore  forty  ?  " 

"  Before  forty  who  ?  law  bless  me  !  " 

"  Before  lie  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry. 
When  he  came  to  work,  he  had  his 
own  way  to  make  :  just  like  mc.  He 
had  a  small  allowance  from  his  father : 
that 's  not  like  mc.  He  took  chambers 
in  the  Temple.  He  went  to  a  pleader's 
oflice.  He  read  fourteen,  tifteen  hours 
every  day.  He  dined  on  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  mutton-chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child  !  I  would  n't 
have  you  to  do  that,  not  to  be  Lord 
Chamberlain  —  Chancellor  what  's 
his  name  ?    Destroy  your  youth  with 


reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go  with- 
out your  dinner  ?  You  're  not  used 
to  that  sort  of  thing,  dear ;  and  it 
would  kill  you  !  " 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  off  his 
ample  forehead,  and  nodded  his  head, 
smiling  sweetly.  I  think  his  inward 
monitor  hinted  to  hiin  that  there  was 
not  much  danger  of  his  killing  himself 
by  overwork.  "  To  succeed  at  the 
law,  as  in  all  other  professions."  he 
continued,  with  much  gravity,  "  re- 
quires the  greatest  perseverance,  and 
industry,  and  talent ;  and  then,  per- 
haps, you  don't  succeed.  Many  have 
ftiiled  who  have  had  all  these  quali- 
ties." 

"  But  they  have  n't  talents  like  my 
Philip,  I  know  they  have  n't.  And  I 
had  to  stand  up  in  a  court  once,  and 
was  cross-examined  by  a  vulgar  man 
before  a  horrid  deaf  old  judge  ;  and  I 
'm  sure  if  your  lawyers  are  like  them 
I  don't  wish  you  to  succeed  at  all. 
And  now,  look  !  there  's  a  nice  loin 
of  pork  coming  up.  Pa  loves  roast 
pork ;  and  you  must  come  and  have 
some  with  us  ;  and  every  day  and  all 
days,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to  see 
you  seated  there."  And  the  Little 
Sister  frisked  about  here,  and  bustled 
there,  and  brought  a  cunning  bottle 
of  wine  from  some  corner,  and  made 
the  boy  welcome.  So  that,  you  see, 
far  from  starving,  he  actually  had  two 
dinners  on  that  first  day  of  his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise 
regarding  the  money,  on  Philip's 
solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she 
should  be  his  banker  whenever  neces- 
sity called.  She  rather  desired  his 
poverty  for  the  sake  of  its  precious 
reward.  She  hid  away  a  little  bag 
of  gold  for  her  darling's  use  whenever 
he  should  neeii  it.  I  dare  say  she 
pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at 
home,  so  as  to  save  yet  more,  and  so 
caused  the  captain  to  grumble.  Why, 
for  that  boy's  sake,  I  believe  she 
would  have  been  capable  of  shaving 
her  lodgers'  legs  of  mutton,  and  levy- 
ing a  tax  on  their  tea-caddies  and 
baker's  stuff.  If  you  don't  like  un- 
principled attachmeate  of  this  soi% 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


189 


and  only  desire  that  your  womankind 
should  love  you  for  yourself,  and  ac- 
cording^ to  your  i|jserts,  I  am  your 
very  humble  servant.  Hereditary 
bondswomen  !  you  know,  that  were 
you  free,  and  did  you  strike  the  blow, 
my  dears,  you  were  unhappy  for  your 
pain,  ana  eagerly  would  claim  your 
bonds  again.  What  poet  has  uttered 
that  sentiment  ?  It  is  perfectly  true, 
and  I  know  will  receive  the  cordial 
approbation  of  the  dear  ladies. 

JPhilip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind 
that  he  will  go  and  live  in  those 
chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we 
liave  met  him.  Vanjohn,  the  sport- 
ing gentleman,  liad  determined  for 
special  reasons  to  withdraw  from  law 
and  sport  in  this  country,  and  Mr. 
Firmin  took  possession  of  his  vacant 
sleeping-chamber.  To  furnish  a  bach- 
elor's bedroom  need  not  be  a  matter 
of  much  cost ;  but  Mr.  Philip  was  too 
good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle  about 
the  valuation  of  Vanjohn's  bedsteads 
and  chests  of  drawers,  and  generously 
took  them  at  twice  their  value.  He 
and  Mr.  Cassidy  now  divided  the 
rooms  in  equal  reign.  Ah,  happy 
rooms,  bright  rooms,  rooms  near  the 
sky,  to  remember  you  is  to  be  young 
again  !  for  I  would  have  you  to  know 
that  when  Philip  went  to  take  posses- 
sion of  his  share  of  the  fourth  floor  in 
the  Temple,  his  biographer  was  still 
comparatively  juvenile,  and  in  one 
or  two  very  old-fashioned  families  was 
called  "  young  Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Eirmin  dwelt  in  a  garret ; 
-and  the  fourth  part  of  u  laundress  and 
the  half  of  a  boy  now  formed  the  do- 
mestic establishment  of  him  who  had 
been  attended  by  housekeepers,  but- 
lers, and  obsequious  liveried  menials. 
To  be  freed  from  that  ceremonial  and 
etiquette  of  plush  and  worsted  lace 
was  an  immense  relief  to  Firmin. 
His  pipe  need  not  lurk  in  crypts  or 
hack  closets  now  :  its  fraj^rance 
breathed  over  the  whole  chambers, 
and  rose  up  to  the  sky,  their  near 
neighbor. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being 
rained,  Philip  vowed,  was  an  UHcom- 


monly  ])leasant  time.  He  had  still 
])k'uty  of  money  in  his  pocket;  and 
tiie  stusc  that,  perhaps,  it  was  impru- 
dent to  take  a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle 
of  wine,  added  a  zest  to  those  enjoy- 
ments which  they  by  no  means  pos- 
sessed when  they  were  easy  and  of 
daily  occurrence.  I  am  not  certain 
that  a  dinner  of  beef  and  porter  did 
not  amuse  our  young  man  almost  as 
well  as  banquets  much  more  costly  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed.  He 
laughed  at  the  pretensions  of  his  boyish 
days,  when  he  and  other  solemn  young 
epicures  used  to  sit  down  to  elaborate 
tavern  banquets,  and  pretend  to 
criticise  vintiiges,  and  sauces,  and 
turtle.  As  yet  there  was  not  only  con- 
tent with  his  dinner,  but  plenty  there- 
with ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm 
you  by  supposing  that  Philip  will 
ever  have  to  encounter  any  dreadful 
extremities  of  poverty  and  hunger  in 
the  course  of  his  history.  The  wine 
in  the  jug  was  very  low  at  times,  but 
it  never  was  quite  empty.  This  lamb 
was  shoi-n,  but  the  wind  was  tempered 
to  him. 

So  Philip  took  possession  of  his 
rooms  in  the  Temple,  and  began  act- 
ually to  reside  there  just  as  the  long 
vacation  commenced,  which  he  in- 
tended to  devote  to  a  course  of  seri- 
ous study  of  the  law  and  private 
preparation,  before  he  should  venture 
on  the  great  business  of  circuits  and 
the  bar.  Nothing  is  more  necessary 
for  desk-men  than  exercise,  so  Philip 
took  &  good  deal ;  especially  on  the 
watei,  where  he  pulled  a  famous  oar. 
Nothing  is  more  natural  after  exer- 
cise than  refreshment;  and  Mr.  P'ir- 
min,  now  he  was  too  poor  for  claret 
showed  a  great  capacity  for  beer. 
After  beer  and  bodily  labor,  rest,  of 
course,  is  necessary ;  and  Firmin 
slept  nine  hours,  and  looked  as  rosy 
as  a  girl  in  her  first  season.  Then 
such  a  man,  with  such  a  frame  and 
health,  must  have  a  good  appetite  for 
breakfast.  And  then  every  man  who 
wishes  to  succeed  .at  the  bar  in  tlic 
senate,  on  the  bench,  in  the  House  of 
Peers,  on  the  Woolsack,  must  know 


190 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  quotidian  history  of  his  country ; 
so,  of  course,  Philip  read  the  newspa- 
per. Thus,  you  see,  his  hours  of 
study  were  perforce  curtailed  by  the 
necessary  duties  which  distracted  hira 
from  his  labors. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's 
companion  in  chambers,  Mr.  Cassidy, 
was  a  native  of  the  neighboring  king- 
dom of  Ireland,  and  engaged  in  litera- 
ry pursuits  in  this  country.  A  merry, 
shrewd,  silent,  observant  little  man, 
he,  unlike  some  of  his  compatriots, 
always  knew  how  to  make  both  ends 
meet ;  feared  no  man  alive  in  the 
character  of  a  dun  ;  and  out  of  small  ' 
earnings  managed  to  transmit  no  ' 
small  comforts  and  subsidies  to  old 
parents  living  somewhere  in  Munster. 
Of  Cassidy's  friends  was  Finucanc, 
now  editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  : 
he  married  the  widow  of  the  late  ec- 
centric and  gifted  Captain  Shandon, 
and  Cass  himself  was  the  fashionable 
correspondent  of  the  Gazette,  chron- 
icling the  marriages,  deaths,  births, 
dinner-parties  of  the  nobility.  These 
Irish  gentlemen  knew  other  Irish  gen-  | 
tlemen  connected  with  other  newspa- 
pers, who  f>rraed  a  little  literary 
society.  They  assembled  at  each 
other's  rooms,  and  at  haunts  where 
social  pleasure  was  to  be  purchased 
at  no  dear  rate.  Philip  Firmin  was  I 
known  to  many  of  them  before  his  j 
misfortunes  occurred,  and  when  there 
was  gold  in  plenty  in  his  pocket,  and 
never-failing  applause  for  his  songs. 

When  Pendennis  and  his  friends 
wrote  in  this  newspaper,  it  was  im- 
pertinent enough,  and  many  men  must 
have  heard  the  writers  laugh  at  the 
airs  which  they  occasionally  thought 
proper  to  assume.     The  tone  which  : 
they  took  amused,  annoyed,  tickled,  I 
was  popular.     It  was  continued,  and,  ' 
of  course,  caricatured  by  their  succes- 
sors.   They  worked  for  very  moderate 
fees :  bat  paid  themselves  by  imper- 1 
tinence,  and  the  satisfaction  of  assail- 
ing  their  betters.        Three    or   four  j 
persons    were    reserved    from     their 
abuse  ;  but  somebody  was  sure  every 
week  to  be  tied  up  at  their  post,  and  I 


the  puhlic  made  sport  of  the  victim's 
contortions.  The  writers  were  ob- 
scure barristers,  ushers,  and  college 
men,  but  they  had  omniscience  at  their 
pen's  end,  and  were  ready  to  lay 
down  the  law  on  any  given  subject, 
—  to  teach  any  man  his  ^business, 
were  it  a  bishop  in  his  pulpit,  a  Min- 
ister in  his  place  in  the  House,  a  cap- 
tain on  his  quarter-deck,  a  tailor 
on  his  shopboard,  or  a  jockey  in  his 
saddle. 

Since  those  early  days  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette,  when  old  Shandon 
wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and 
Messrs.  W-rr-ngt-n  and  P-n-d-n- 
n-s  followed  him  in  the  war-path, 
the  Gazette  had  passed  through  sev- 
eral hands ;  and  the  victims  who 
were  immolated  by  the  editors  of  to- 
day were  very  likely  the  objects  of 
the  best  puffery  of  the  last  dynasty. 
To  be  flogged  in  what  was  your  own 
school-room,  —  that,  surely,  is  a  queer 
sensation  ;  and  when  my  Report  was 
published  on  the  decay  of  the  seal- 
ing-wax trade  in  the  three  kingdoms 
(owing  to  the  prevalence  of  gummed 
envelopes, — as  you  may  see  in  that 
masterly  document),  I  was  horsed  up 
and  smartly  whipped  in  the  Gazette 
by  some  of  tiie  rods  which  had  come 
out  of  pickle  since  my  time.  Was 
not  good  Dr.  Guillotin  executed  by 
his  own  neat  invention  f  I  don't 
know  who  was  the  Monsieur  Samson 
who  operated  on  me;  but  have  al- 
ways had  ray  idea  that  Digges,  of 
Corpus,  was  the  m;in  to  whom  my 
flagellation  was  intrusted.  His  father 
keeps  a  ladies'  school  at  Hackney ; 
but  there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  every 
thing  which  Digges  writes,  and  a 
chivalrous  conservatism  which  makes 
me  pretty  certain  that  D.  was  my 
scarifier.  All  this,  however,  is 
naught.  Let  us  turn  away  from 
the  author's  private  griefs  and  ego- 
tisms to  those  of  the  hero  of  the 
story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  ap- 
pearance some  twenty  years  ago  of 
a  little  book  called  "  Trumpet  Calls," 
—  a  book  of  songs  and  poetry,  dedi- 


*; 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


191 


cated  to  his  brother  officers  by  Comet 
Canterton  ?  His  trumpet  was  very 
tolerably  melodious,  and  the  cornet 
played  some  small  airs  on  it  with 
some  little  grace  and  skill.  But  tliis 
poor  Canterton  belonged  to  the  Life 
Guards  Green,  and  Philip  Firmiu 
would  have  liked  to  have  the  lives  of 
one  or  two  troops  at  least  of  that 
corps.  Entering  into  Mr.  Ciissidy's 
room,  Philip  found  the  little  volume. 
He  set  to  work  to  exterminate  Can- 
terton He  rode  him  down,  trampled 
over  his  face  and  carcass,  knocked  the 
"  Trumpet  Calls  "  and  all  the  teeth 
out  of  the  trumpeter's  throat.  Never 
was  such  a  smashing  article  as  he 
wrote.  And  Mugford,  Mr.  Cassidy's 
chief  and  owner,  who  likes  always  to 
have  at  least  one  man  served  up  and 
hashed  small  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  happened  at  this  very  junc- 
ture to  have  no  other  victim  ready  in 
his  larder.  Philip's  review  appeared 
there  in  print.  He  rushed  off  with 
immense  glee  to  Westminster,  to 
show  us  his  performance.  Noth- 
ing must  content  him  but  to  give 
a  dinner  at  Greenwich  on  his  suc- 
cess. O  Philip !  We  wished  that 
this  had  not  been  his  first  fee ; 
and  that  sober  law  had  given  it 
to  him,  and  not  the  graceless  and 
fickle  muse  with  whom  he  had  been 
flirting.  For,  truth  to  say,  certain 
wise  old  heads  which  wagged  over  his 
performance  could  see  but  little  merit 
in  it.  His  style  was  cOarse,  his  wit 
clumsy  and  savage.  Never  mind 
characterizing  either  now.  He  has 
seen  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  di- 
vorced with  the  muse  whom  he  never 
oujiht  to  have  wooed. 

The  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only 
could  not  write  himself,  but  knew  he 
could  not,  —  or,  at  least,  pen  more 
than  a  plain  paragraph,  or  a  brief 
sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he 
would  carry  this  paper  to  his  chief. 
"  His  Excellency  "  was  the  nickname 
by  wiiich  this  chief  was  called  by 
his  familiars.  Mugford — Frederick 
Mugford  was  his  real  name,  —  and 
putting  out  of  sight  that  little  defect  in 


his  character,  that  he  committed  a  sys- 
tematic literary  murder  once  a  week,  a 
more  worthy  good-natured  little  mur- 
derer did  not  live.  He  came  of  the  old 
school  of  the  press.  Like  French 
marshals,  he  had  risen  from  the 
ranks,  and  retained  some  of  the  man- 
ners and  oddities  of  the  private 
soldier.  A  new  race  of  writers  had 
grown  up  since  he  enlisted  as  a  print- 
er's boy,  —  men  of  the  world,  with 
the  manners  of  other  gentlemen. 
Mugford  never  professed  the  least 
gentility.  He  knew  that  his  young 
men  laughed  at  his  peculiarities,  and 
did  not  care  a  fig  for  their  scorn.  As 
the  knife  with  which  he  conveyed  his 
victuals  to  his  mouth  went  down  his 
throat  at  the  plenteous  banquets  which 
he  gave,  he  saw  his  young  friends 
wince  and  wonder,  and  rather  rel- 
ished their  surprise.  Those  lips  never 
cared  in  the  least  about  placing  his 
h's  in  right  places.  They  used  bad 
language  with  great  freedom  (to 
hear  him  biUlying  a  printing-office 
was  a  wonder  of  eloquence), — but 
they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the 
words  which  they  uttered  you  might 
trust.  He  had  belonged  to  two  or 
three  parties,  and  had  respected  them 
all.  When  he  went  to  the  Under- 
Secretary's  office  he  was  never  kept 
waiting;  and  once  or  twice  Mrs. 
Mugford,  who  governed  him,  ordered 
him  to  attend  the  Saturday  reception 
of  the  Ministers'  ladies,  where  he 
might  be  seen,  with  dirty  hands,  it  is 
true,  but  a  richly  embroidered  waist- 
coat and  fancy  satin  tie.  His  heart, 
however,  was  not  in  tliese  entertain- 
ments. I  have  heard  him  say  that 
he  only  came  because  Mrs.  M.  would 
have  it ;  and  he  frankly  owned  that  he 
"  would  rather  'ave  a  pipe,  and  a 
drop  of  something  'ot,  than  all  your 
ices  and  rubbish." 

Mugfonl  had  a  curious  knowledge 
of  what  was  going  on  in  the  world, 
and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people. 
When  Cass  brought  Philip's  article 
to  his  Excellency,  and  mentioned  the 
author's  name,  Jilugford  showed  him- 
self to  be  perfectly  familiar  with  the 


192 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


histories  of  Philip  and  his  father. 
"  The  old  chap  has  nobbled  the 
young  fellow's  money,  almost  every 
shilling  of  it,  I  hear.  Knew  he  nev- 
er would  carry  on.  His  discounts 
would  have  killed  any  man.  Seen 
his  paper  about  this  ten  year.  Young 
one  is  a  gentleman,  —  passionate  fel- 
low, hawhaw  fellow,  but  kind  to  the 
poor.  Father  never  was  a  gentle- 
man, with  all  his  fine  airs  and  fine 
waistcoats.  I  don't  set  up  in  that 
line  myself,  Cass,  but  I  tell  you  I 
know  'em  when  I  see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  pa- 
trons whose  influence  was  great  with 
the  Mugford  family,  and  of  whom  he 
little,  knew.  Every  year  Mrs.  M. 
was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  a 
Mugford  to  the  world.  She  was  one 
of  Mrs.  Brandon's  most  regular  cli- 
ents ;  and  year  after  year,  almost 
&om  his  first  arrival  in  Ix>ndon,  Rid- 
ley, the  painter,  had  been  engaged  as 
fortrait  painter  to  this  wortliy  family, 
'iiilip  and  his  illness  ;  Philip  and 
his  horses,  splendors,  and  entertain- 
ments ;  Philip  and  his  lamentable 
downfall  and  ruin,  had  formed  the 
subject  of  many  an  interesting  talk 
between  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  friend 
the  Little  Sister ;  and  as  we  know 
Caroline's  infatuation  about  the 
voung  fellow,  we  may  suppose  that 
ills  good  qualities  lost  nothing  in  the 
description.  When  that  article  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  appeared. 
Nurse  Brandon  took  the  omnibus  to 
Haverstock  Hill,  where,  as  you 
know,  Mugford  had  his  villa ;  — 
arrived  at  Mrs  Mugford's,  Gazette 
in  hand  ;  and  had  a  long  and  delight- 
ful conversation  with  that  lady. 
Mrs.  Brandon  bought  I  don't  know 
now  many  copies  of  that  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  She  now  asked  for  it  re- 
peatedly in  her  walks  at  sundry  gin- 
ger-beer shops,  and  of  all  sorts  of  news- 
venders.  I  have  heard  that  when 
the  Mugfords  first  purchased  the 
Gazette,  Mrs.  M.  used  to  drop  bills 
from  her  {xmy-chaise,  and  distribute 
placards  setting  forth  the  excellence 
of  the  journal.     "  We  keep  our  car- 


riage, but  we  ain't  above  our  busi- 
ness, Brandon,"  that  good  lady 
would  say.  And  the  business  pros- 
pered under  the  managem^it  of  these 
worthy  folks  ;  and  the  pony-chaise 
unlbkled  into  a  noble  barouche  ;  and 
the  pony  increased  and  multiplied, 
and  became  a  pair  of  horses  ;  and 
there  was  not  a  richer  piece  of  gold 
lace  round  any  coachman's  hat  in 
London  than  now  decorated  John, 
who  had  grown  with  the  growth  of 
his  master's  fortunes,  and  drove  the 
chariot  in  which  his  worthy  employ- 
ers rode  on  the  way  to  Hampstead, 
honor,  and  prosperity. 

"  All  this  pitching  into  the  poet 
is  very  well,  you  know,  Cassidy," 
says  Mugford  to  his  subordinate. 
"  it 's  like  shooting  a  butterfly  with  a 
blunderbuss ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that 
kind  of  sport,  I  don't  mind.  There 
won't  be  any  diflftculty  about  taking 
his  copy  at  our  place.  The  duchess 
knows  another  old  woman  who  is 
a  friend  of  his  "  ("  the  duchess  "  was 
the  title  which  Mr.  Mugford  was  in 
the  playful  habit  of  conferring  upon 
his  wife).  "  It 's  my  belief  young  F. 
had  better  stick  to  the  law,  and  leave 
the  writing  rubbish  alone.  But  he 
knows  his  own  aflfairs  best,  and,  mind 
you,  the  duchess  is  determinetl  we 
shall  give  him  a  helping  hand." 

Once,  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity, 
and  in  J.  J.'s  company,  Philip  had 
visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  family, 
—  a  circumstance  which  the  gentle- 
man had  almost  forgotten.  The 
painter  and  his  friend  were  taking  a 
Sunday  walk,  and  came  upon  Mug- 
ford's  pretty  cottage  and  garden,  and 
were  hospitably  entertained  tiiere  by 
the  owners  of  the  place.  It  has  dis- 
appeared, and  the  old  garden  has  long 
since  been  covered  by  terraces  and 
villas,  and  Mugford  and  Mrs.  M., 
good  souls,  where  are  they  ?  But 
the  lady  thought  she  had  never  seen 
such  a  fine-looking  young  fellow  as 
Philip ;  cast  alxjut  in  her  mind  which 
of  her  little  female  Mugfords  should 
marry  him  ;  and  insisted  upon  otter- 
ing her   guest    champagne.       Poor 


THE  ADVEXTURI,'    OK   rillLIP. 


193 


Phil  !  So,  you  see,  whilst,  perhaps, 
he  was  rather  pluming  himself  u])on 
his  literary  talents,  and  ima<;iiiing 
that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he  was 
only  the  object  of  a  job  on  the  part 
of  two  or  three  good  folks,  who 
knew  his  history,  and  compassionated 
his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Phil- 
ip's recollection,  when  they  met  after 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Phil's  first 
performance  in  the  Gazette.  If  he 
still  took  a  Sunday  walk,  Hamp- 
stead  way,  Mr.  M.  requested  him  to 
remember  that  there  was  a  slice  of 
beef  and  a  glass  of  wine  at  the  old 
shop.  Philip  remembered  it  well 
enough  now  :  the  ugly  room,  the 
ugly  family,  the  kind  worthy  people. 
Erelong  he  learned  what  had  been 
Mrs.  Brandon's  connection  with 
them,  and  the  young  man's  heart 
was  softened  and  grateful  as  he 
thought  how  this  kind,  gentle  crea- 
ture had  been  able  to  befriend  him. 
She,  we  may  be  sure,  was  not  a  lit- 
tle proud  of  her  protege.  I  believe 
she  grew  to  fancy  that  the  whole  news- 
paper was  written  by  Philip.  She 
made  her  fond  parent  read  it  aloud 
as  she  worked.  Mr.  Eidley,  senior, 
pronounced  it  was  remarkably  fine, 
really  now  ;  without,  I  think,  entirely 
comprehending  the  meaning  of  the 
sentiments  which  Mr.  Gann  gave 
forth  in  his  rich  loud  voice,  and  often 
dropping  asleep  in  his  chair  during 
this  sermon. 

In  the  antumn,  Mr.  Finnin's  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendennis,  selected  the 
romantic  seaport  town  of  Boulogne 
for  their  holiday  residence ;  and  having 
roomy  qunrters  in  the  old  town,  we 
gave  Mr.  Philip  an  invitation  to  pay 
us  a  visit  whenever  he  could  tear  him- 
self away  from  literature  and  law. 
He  came  in  high  spirits.  He  amused 
us  by  imitations  and  descriptions  of 
his  new  proprietor  and  master,  Mr. 
Mugford, —  his  blunders,  his  bad  lan- 
guage, his  good  heart.  One  day, 
Mugford  expected  a  celebrated  liter- 
ary character  to  dinner,  and  Philip 
and  Cassidy  were  invited  to  meet  him. 
9 


Tlic  great  man  was  ill,  and  was  un- 
nii!e  to  come.  "  Don't  dish  up  the 
side-dishes,"  called  out  Mugford  to 
his  cook,  in  the  hearing  of  iiis  other 
guests.  "  Mr.  Lyon  ain't  a  coming." 
'riiey  dined  quite  sutficiently  without 
the  side-dishes,  and  were  peifectly 
cheerful  in  the  absence  of  the  lion. 
Mugford  jiatronized  his  young  men 
with  amusing  good-nature.  "  Firmin, 
cut  the  goose  for  the  duchess,  will 
you  ?  Cass  can't  say  Bo  !  to  one,  he 
can't.  Ridley,  a  little  of  the  stuffing. 
It'll  make  your  hair  curl."  And 
I'hilip  was  going  to  imitate  a  fright- 
ful act  with  the  cold  steel  (with  wliich 
I  have  said  Philip  s  master  used  to 
convey  food  to  his  mouth),  but  our 
dear  innocent  third  daughter  uttered 
a  shriek  of  terror,  which  caused  him 
to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon.  Our 
darling  little  Florence  is  a  nervous 
child,  and  the  sight  of  an  edged  tool 
causes  her  anguish,  ever  sime  our 
darling  little  Tom  nearly  cut  his 
thumb  ofi"  with  his  father's  razor. 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  de- 
lightful pla(  e  was  to  look  at  the  sea- 
sick landing  from  the  steamers  ;  and 
one  day,  ns  we  witnessed  this  ];he- 
nomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes 
which  divided  us  from  the  arriving 
passengers,  and  with  a  cry  of  "  How 
do  you  do.  General  ?  "  greeted  a 
yellow-faced  gentle  m:in,  who  started 
back,  and,  to  my  thinking,  seemed 
but  ill  inclined  to  reciprocate  Philip's 
friendly  greeting.  The  General  was 
fluttered,  no  doubt,  by  the  bustle  and 
interruptions  incidental  to  the  land- 
ing. A  pallid  lady,  the  jiartncr  of 
his  existence  probably,  was  calling 
out,  "  Noof  et  doo  donicstiques. 
Poo  !  "  to  the  sentries  who  kept  the 
line,  and  who  seemed  little  interested 
by  this  family  news.  A  govcmess,  a 
tall  young  lady,  and  several  more 
male  and  female  children,  followed 
the  pale  lady,  who,  as  I  thoi!^-ht, 
looked  strangely  frightened  when  tlic 
gentleman  addressed  as  General  com- 
municated to  her  Philip's  name. 
"  Is  that  him  1  "  said  the  lady  in 
questionable  grammar  ;  and  the  tall 
M 


194 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


young  ladj  turned  a  pair  of  large 
eyes  uj)on  the  individual  designated 
as  "  him,"  and  showed  a  pair  of  dank 
ringlets,  out  of  which  the  envious 
sea-nymphs  had  shaken  all  the  curl. 

The  general  turned  out  to  be 
General  Baynes  ;  the  pale  lady  was 
Mrs.  General  B.  ;  the  tall  young 
lady  was  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  the 
General's  eldest  child  ;  and  the  other 
six,  forming  nine,  or  "  noof,"  in  all, 
as  Mrs.  General  B.  said,  were  the 
other  members  of  the  Baynes  family. 
And  here  I  may  as  well  say  why  the 
General  looked  alarmed  on  seeing 
Philip,  and  why  the  General's  lady 
frowned  at  him.  In  action  one  of 
the  bravest  of  men,  in  common  life 
General  Baynes  was  timorous  and 
weak.  Specially  he  was  afraid  of 
Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who  ruled  him 
with  a  vigorous  authority  As  Piiilip's 
trustee,  he  had  allowed  Philip's  father 
to  make  away  with  the  boy  s  money. 
He  learned  with  a  ghastly  terror  that 
he  was  answerable  for  his  own  re- 
missness and  want  of  care.  For  a 
long  while  he  did  not  dare  to  tell 
his  commander-in-chief  of  this  dread- 
ful penalty  which  was  hanging  over 
him.  When  at  last  he  ventured 
upon  this  confession,  I  do  not 
envy  him  the  scene  which  must  have 
ensued  between  him  and  his  com- 
manding officer.  The  morning  after 
the  fatal  confession,  when  the  chil- 
dren assembled  for  breakfast  and 
prayers,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  their 
young  ones  their  porridge  :  she  and 
Charlotte  poured  out  the  tea  and  cof- 
fee for  the  elders,  and  then  addressing 
her  eldest  son  Ochterlony,  she  said, 
"  Ocky,  my  boy,  the  General  has  an- 
nounced a  charming  piece  of  news 
this  morning." 

"  Bought  that  pony,  sir  1  "  says 
Ocky. 

"  O,  what  jolly  fun  ! "  says  Moira, 
the  second  son. 

"  Dear,  dear  papa !  what 's  the 
matter,  and  why  do  you  look  so  ?  " 
cries  (Charlotte,  looking  behind  her 
father's  paper. 

That  guilty  man  would  fain  have 


made  a  shroud  of  his  Morning  Herald- 
He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over 
his  whole  body,  and  lain  hidden  there 
from  all  eyes. 

"  The  fun,  my  dears,  is  that  your 
father  is  ruined  :  that 's  the  fun.  Eat 
your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Char- 
lotte, pop  a  bit  of  butter  in  Carrick's 
porridge  ;  for  you  may  n't  have  any 
to-moiTow." 

"  O,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

"  You'll  soon  see  whether  it  is 
gammon  or  not,  sir,  when  you  '11  be 
starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined 
us,  —  and  a  very  pleasant  morning's 
work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  calmly  rubs  the  nose  of  her 
youngest  child  who  is  near  her,  and 
too  young,  and  innocent,  and  care- 
less, perhaps,  of  the  world's  censure 
as  yet  to  keep  in  a  strict  cleanliness 
her  own  dear  little  snub  nose  and 
dappled  cheeks. 

"  We  are  only  ruined,  and  shall  be 
starving  soon,  my  dears,  and  if  the 
General  has  bought  a  pony,  —  as  I 
dare  say  he  has  ;  he  is  quite  capable 
of  buying  a  pony  when  we  are  starv- 
ing, —  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to 
eat  the  pony.  M'Grigor,  don't  laugh. 
Starvation  is  no  laughing  matter. 
When  we  were  at  Dumdum,  in  '36, 
we  ate  some  colt.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber Jubber's  colt, — Jubber  of  the 
Horse  Artillery,  General  1  Never 
tasted  anything  more  tender  in  all  my 
life.  Charlotte,  take  Jany's  hands 
out  of  the  marmalade  !  We  are  all 
ruined,  my  dears,  as  sure  as  our  name 
is  Baynes."  Thus  did  the  mother  of 
the  family  prattle  on  in  the  midst  of 
her  little  ones,  and  announce  to  them 
the  dreadful  news  of  impending  star- 
vation. "  General  Baynes,  by  his 
carelessness,  had  allowed  Dr.  Firniin 
to  make  away  with  the  money  over 
which  the  General  had  Ijcen  set  as  sen- 
tinel. Philip  might  recover  from  the 
trustee,  and  no  doubt  would.  Per- 
haps he  would  not  press  his  claim  ? 
My  dear,  what  can  you  expect  from 
the  son  of  such  a  father  1  Depend 
on  it,  Charlotte,  no  good  fruit  can 
come  from  a  stock  like   that.     Thtf 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


195 


*on  is  a  bad  one,  the  father  is  a  bad 
one,  and  your  father,  poor  dear  soul,  is 
not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  walk  the  street 
without  some  one  to  keep  him  from 
tumbling.  Why  did  I  allow  him  to 
go  to  town  without  me?  We  were 
quartered  at  Colchester  then  :  and  I 
could  not  move  on  account  of  your 
brother  M'Grigor.  '  Baynes,'  I  said 
to  your  father, '  as  sure  as  I  let  you  go 
away  to  town  without  me,  you  will 
come  to  mischief.'  And  go  he  did, 
and  come  to  mischief  he  did.  And 
through  his  folly  I  and  my  poor  chil- 
dren must  go  and  beg  our  bread  in 
the  streets,  —  I  and  my  seven  poor, 
robbed,  penniless  Utile  ones.  0,  it 's 
cruel,  cruel !  " 

Indeed,  one  cannot  fancy  a  more 
dismal  pro.spect  for  this  worthy  moth- 
er and  wife  than  to  see  her  children 
without  provision  at  the  commence- 
ment of  their  lives,  and  her  luckless 
husband  robbed  of  his  life's  earnings, 
and  ruined  just  when  he  was  too  old 
to  work. 

What  was  to  become  of  them  ? 
Now  poor    Charlotte   thought,    with 

Sangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  liow  idle  she 
ad  been,  and  how  she  had  snubbed 
her  governesses,  and  how  little  she 
knew,  and  how  badly  she  played  the 
piano.  O  neglected  opportunities  ! 
O  remorse,  now  the  time  was  past 
and  irrecoverable !  Does  any  young 
lady  read  this  who,  perchance,  ought 
to  be  doing  her  lessons  1  My  dear, 
lay  down  the  story-book  at  once.  Go 
up  to  your  school-room,  and  practise 
your  piano  for  two  hours  this  mo- 
ment ;  so  that  you  may  be  prepared  to 
support  your  family,  should  ruin  in 
any  case  fall  upon  you.  A  great  girl 
of  sixteen,  I  pity  Charlotte  Baynes's 
feelings  of  anguish.  She  can't  write 
a  very  good  hand ;  she  can  scarcely 
answer  any  question  to  speak  of  in 
any  educational  books ;  her  pianoforte 
playing  is  very  very  so-so  indeed. 
If  she  is  to  go  out  and  get  a  living  for 
the  family,  how,  in  the  name  of  good- 
ness, is  she  to  set  about  it  1  What 
are  they  to  do  with  the  boys,  and  the 
money   that  has   been  put  away  for 


Ochterlony  when  he  goes  to  college, 
and  fur  Moira's  commission  i  "  Why 
we  can't  afford  to  keep  them  at  Dr. 
Pybus's  where  they  were  doing  so 
well ;  and  they  were  ever  so  much  bet- 
ter and  more  gentlemanlike  than  Colo- 
nel Chandler's  boys  ;  and  to  lose  the 
army  will  break  Moira's  heart,  it  will. 
And  the  little  ones,  my  little  blue- 
eyed  Carrick,  and  my  darling  Jany, 
and  my  Mary,  that  I  nursed  almcst 
miraculously  out  of  her  scarlet  fever. 
God  help  tium  !  God  help  us  all !  " 
thinks  the  ];oor  mother.  No  wondtr 
that  her  nights  are  wakeful,  and  her 
heart  in  a  tumult  of  alarm  at  the  idea 
of  tlie  impending  danger. 

And  the  father  of  the  family  ?  — 
the  stout  old  General  whose  battles 
and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come 
home  to  rest  his  war-worn  limbs,  and 
make  his  peace  with  Heaven  ere  it 
calls  him  away, —  what  must  be  his 
feelings  when  he  thinks  that  he  has 
been  entrapped  by  a  villain  into  com- 
niiting  an  imprudence  which  makes 
his  children  penniless  and  himself  dis- 
honored and  a  beggar?  When  he 
found  what  Dr.  Firmin  iiad  done,  and 
how  he  iiad  been  cheated, he  wentaway, 
aghast,  to  his  lawyer,  who  could  give 
him  no  help.  Philip's  mother's  trus- 
tee was  answerable  to  Philip  for  his 
property.  It  had  been  stolen  through 
Baynes's  own  carelessness,  and  the 
law  bound  him  to  replace  it.  (Jen- 
eral  Baynes's  man  of  business  could 
not  help  him  out  of  his  perplexity  at 
all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy  reader  is 
not  going  to  be  too  angry  with  the 
General  for  what  I  own  he  did.  l'o« 
never  would,  my  dear  sir,  I  know. 
No  power  on  earth  would  induce  you 
to  depart  one  inch  from  the  ])atli  of 
rectitude  ;  or,  having  done  an  act  of 
imprudence,  to  shrink  from  bearing 
the  consequence.  The  long  and 
short  of  the  matter  is,  that  ]  oor 
Baynes  and  his  wife,  after  holding 
agitated,  stealthy  councils  together, — 
after  believing  that  every  strange  face 
they  saw  was  a  bailiff's  coming  to 
arrest  them  on  Philip's  account,  — 
after  horrible  days  of  remorse,  misery, 


19b 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


guilt, — I  say  the  long  and  the  short  of 
the  raitter  was  that  these  poor  people 
daterinined  to  run  away.  They 
woulil  go  and  hide  themselves  any- 
where, —  in  an  impenetrable  pine 
forest  in  Norway,  —  up  an  inaccess- 
ible mountain  in  Switzerland.  They 
would  change  their  names  ;  dye  their 
mustachios  and  honest  old  white 
hiir;  fly  with  their  little  ones  away, 
aw.iy,  away,  out  of  the  reach  of  law 
and  Philip  ;  and  the  first  flight  lands 
tham  on  Boulogne  Pier,  and  there  is 
Mr.  Philip  holding  out  his  hand  and 
actually  eying  them  as  they  got  out 
of  the  steamer  !  Eying  them  ?  It 
is  the  eye  of  Heaven  that  is  on  those 
criminals.  Holding  out  his  hand  to 
them  ?  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  that  is 
on  their  wretched  shoulders.  No 
wonder  they  shuddered  and  turned 
pale.  That  which  I  took  for  sea-sick- 
ness, I  am  sorry  to  say  was  a  guilty 
conscience  :  and  where  is  the  steward, 
my  dear  friends,  who  can  relieve  us 
of  that  ? 

As  this  party  came  staggering  out 
of  the  Custom-house,  poor  Baynes 
still  found  Philip's  hand  stretched 
out  to  catch  hold  of  him,  and  salut- 
ed him  wich  a  ghastly  cordiality. 
"  These  are  yonr  children,  General, 
and  this  is  Mrs.  B  lynes  ? "  says 
Philip,  smiling,  and  takin;  off  liis  hat. 

"  0  yes !  I  'm  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  !  "  says  the  poor  woman  ; 
"and  these  are  the  children, — yes, 
yes.  Charlotte,  this  is  Mr.  Firmin, 
of  whom  you  hive  heard  us  speak  ; 
and  these  are  my  boys,  Moira  and 
Ochterlony." 

"  I  h  ive  ha  I  the  honor  of  meeting 
General  Baynes  at  Old  Parr  Street. 
Don't  you  remember,  sir?  "  says  Mr. 
Pendcnnis,  with  great  affability  to 
the  General. 

"  What,  another  who  knows  me  ?  " 
I  dare  say  the  poor  wretch  thinks ; 
and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning 
pass  between  the  guilty  wife  and  the 
guilty  husband. 

"  iTou  are  going  to  stay  at  any 
hotel  ? " 

"  '  Hotel  des  Bains'  '"     "  '  Hotel 


du  Nord!'"  "'Hotel  d'Angl©- 
terre ! '  "  here  cry  twenty  commis- 
sioners in  a  breath. 

"  Hotel  1  O  yes  !  That  is,  we 
have  not  made  up  our  minds  whether 
we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether 
we  shall  stay,"  say  those  guilty  ones, 
looking  at  one  another,  and  then 
down  to  the  ground  ;  on  which  one 
of  the  children,  with  a  roar  says, — 

"  O  ma,  what  a  story  !  You  said 
you  'd  stay  to-night ;  and  I  was  so 
sick  in  the  beastly  boat,  and  I  won't 
travel  any  more  !  "  And  tears  choke 
his  artless  utterance.  "  And  you 
said  Bang  to  the  man  who  took  your 
keys,  you  know  you  did,"  resumes 
the  innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp 
a  further  remark. 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak  ?  "  cried 
mamma,  giving  the  boy  a  shake. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  the  '  Hotel  des 
Bains,' "  says  Philip;  making  Miss 
Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows. 
And  Miss  Baynes  makes  a  courtesy, 
and  her  eyes  look  up  at  the  handsome 
young  man,  —  large  brown  honest 
eyes  in  a  comely  round  face,  on  each 
side  of  which  depend  two  straight 
wisps  of  brown  hair  that  were  ringlets 
when  they  left  Folkestone  a  few  bour^ 
since. 

"  O,  I  say,  look  at  those  women 
with  the  short  petticoats  !  and  wooden 
shoes,  by  George  !  Oh  !  it 's  jolly, 
ain't  it  1  "  cries  one  young  gentle- 
man. 

"  By  George,  there 's  a  man  with 
car-rings  on  !  There  is,  Ocky,  upon 
my  word  !  "  calls  out  another.  And 
the  elder  boy,  turning  round  to  his 
father,  points  to  some  soldiers.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  such  little  beggars  ?  "  he 
sa^'s,  tossing  his  head  up.  "  They 
would  n't  take  such  fellows  into  our 
line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you," 
says  Charlotte.  "  I  am  accustomed 
to  carry  him."  I  forgot  to  say  that 
the  young  lady  had  one  of  the  chil- 
dren asleep  on  her  shoulder  ;  and  an- 
other was  toddling  at  her  side,  hold- 
ing by  his  sister's  dress,  and  ad- 
miring Mr.  Firmin's  whiskers,  that 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


197 


flamed  and  curled  very  luminously 
and  (gloriously,  like  to  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun. 

"  I  am  very  glad  we  met,  sir,"  says 
Philip,  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
taking  leave  of  the  General  at  the 
gate  of  his  hotel.  "  I  hope  you  won't 
go  away  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may 
come  and  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs. 
Baynes."  Again  he  salutes  that  lady 
with  a  coup  de  chapeait.  Again  he 
bows  to  Miss  Baynes.  She  makes  a 
pretty  courtesy  enough,  considering 
that  she  has  a  baby  asleep  on  her 
shoulder.  And  they  enter  the  hotel, 
the  excellent  Marie  marshalling  them 
to  fitting  apartments,  wliere  some  of 
them,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  sleep  very 
soundly.  How  much  more  comfort- 
ably might  poor  Baynes  and  his  wife 
have  slept,  had  they  known  what  were 
Philip's  feelings  regarding  them  ! 

We  both  admired  Charlotte,  the 
tall  girl  who  carried  her  little  brother, 
and  around  whom  the  others  clung. 
And  we  spoke  loudly  in  Miss  Char- 
lotte's praises  to  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
when  we  joined  that  lady  at  dinner. 
In  the  praise  of  Mrs.  Baynes  we  had 
not  a  great  deal  to  say,  further  than 
that  she  seamed  to  take  command  of 
the  whole  expedition,  including  the 
general  officer,  her  husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  "  Ho- 
tel des  Bains  "  are  as  comfortable  as 
any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that 
admirable  chambermaid  cannot  lay 
out  a  clean,  easy  conscience  upon 
the  clean,  fragrant  pillow-case ;  and 
(jeueral  and  Mrs.  Baynes  owned,  in 
after  days,  that  one  of  the  most 
dreadful  nights  they  ever  passed  was 
that  of  their  first  landing  in  France. 
What  refugee  from  his  country  can  fly 
from  himself?  Railways  were  not 
as  yet  in  that  part  of  France.  The 
General  was  too  poor  to  fly  with  a 
couple  of  private  carriages,  which  he 
must  have  had  for  his  family  of 
"  noof,"  his  governess,  qnd  two  ser- 
vants. Encumbered  with  such  a 
train,  his  enemy  would  speedily  have 
pursued  and  overtaken  him.  It  is  a 
fact  that,  immediately  after  landing 


at  his  hotel,  he  and  his  commanding 
officer  wentoff  to  see  when  they  could 
get  ])lafes  for  —  never  mind  the  name 
of  the  place  where  they  really  tliouglit 
of  taking  refuge.  They  never  told, 
hut  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  sister, 
Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  (married  to 
MacW.  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry),  and 
the  sisters  loved  each  other  very 
affijctionately,  especially  by  letter,  for 
it  mu>t  be  owned  that  they  quarrelled 
frightfully  when  together ;  and  Mrs. 
MacWhirter  never  could  bear  that 
her  younger  sister  should  be  taken 
out  to  dinner  before  her,  because  she 
was  married  to  a  superior  officer. 
Well,  their  little  differences  were  for- 
gotten when  the  two  ladies  were  apart 
The  sisters  wrote  to  each  other  pro- 
digious long  letters,  in  which  house- 
hold affitirs,  the  children's  puerile 
diseases,  the  relative  prices  of  veal, 
eggs,  chickens,  the  rent  of  lodging 
and  houses  in  various  places,  were 
fully  discussed.  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes 
showed  a  surprising  knowledge  of 
Tours,  the  markets,  rents,  clergymen, 
society  there,  and  as  Major  and  Mrs. 
Mac.  were  staying  there,  I  liave  little 
doubt,  for  my  part,  from  this  and 
another  not  unimportant  circum- 
stance, that  it  was  to  that  fair  city 
our  fugitives  were  wending  their  way, 
when  events  occurred  which  must 
now  be  narrated,  and  which  caused 
General  Baynes  at  the  head  of  his 
domestic  regiment  to  do  what  the 
King  of  France  with  twenty  thousand 
men  is  said  to  have  done  in  old  times. 
Philip  was  greatly  interested  about 
the  family.  The  truth  is,  we  were 
all  very  much  bored  at  Boulogne. 
We  read  the  feeblest  London  papers 
at  the  reading-room  with  frantic 
assiduity.  We  saw  all  the  boats 
come-  in  :  and  the  day  was  lost  when 
we  missed  the  Folkestone  boat  or  the 
London  boat.  We  consumed  much 
time  and  absinthe  at  cafes ;  and 
tramped  leagues  upon  that  old  pier 
every  day.  Well,  Philip  was  at  the 
"Hotel  des  Bains"  at  a  very  early 
hour  next  morning,  and  there  he  saw 
the  General,  with  a  woe-worn  fac«. 


198 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILI?. 


leaning  on  his  stick,  and  looking  at 
his  luggajre,  as  it  lay  piled  in  the 
porte-cochere  of  the  hotel.  There 
they  lay,  thirty-seven  packages  in  all, 
including  washing-tubs,  and  a  child's 
India  sleeping-cot ;  and  all  these 
packages  were  ticketed  M.  le  Ge- 
neral Baynes,  Officier  Anglais, 
Tours,  1'ouraixe,  France.  I  say, 
putting  two  and  two  together ;  calling 
to  mind  Mrs.  General's  singular 
knowledge  of  Tours  and  femiliarity 
with  the  place  and  its  prices  ;  remem- 
bering that  her  sister  Emily —  Mrs. 
Major  MacWhirter,  in  fact  —  was 
there ;  and  seeing  thirty-seven  trunks, 
ba^s,  and  portmanteaus,  all  directed 
"  M.  le  General  Baynes,  Officier 
Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,"  am  I 
wrong  in  supposing  that  Tours  was 
the  General's  destination  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  we  have  the  old  officer's 
declaration  to  Philip  that  he  did  not 
know  where  he  was  going.  O  you 
sly  old  man  !  O  you  gray  old  fox, 
beginning  to  double  and  to  turn  at 
sixty-seven  years  of  age  !  Well  ? 
The  General  was  in  retreat,  and  he 
did  not  wish  the  enemy  to  know 
upon  what  lines  he  w.is  retreating. 
What  is  the  harm  of  that,  pray  ? 
Besides  he  was  under  the  orders  of 
his  commanding  officer,  and  when 
Airs.  General  gave  her  orders,  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  any  officer 
of  hers  disobey. 

"  What  a  pyramid  of  portman- 
teaus !  You  are  not  thinking 
of  moving  to-day.  General  1 "  says 
Philip. 

"  It  is  Sunday,  sir,"  says  the 
General ;  which  you  will  perceive  was 
not  answering  the  question  ;  but  in 
truth,  except  for  a  very  great  emer- 
gency, the  good  General  would  not 
travel  on  that  day. 

"  I  hope  the  ladies  slept  well  after 
their  windy  voyage." 

"  Thank  you.  My  wife  is  an  old 
Failor,  and  h;vs  ma'le  two  voyages  out 
and  home  to  India."  Here,  you  un- 
derstand, the  old  man  is  again  eluding 
his  interlocutor's  artless  queries. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  some  talk 


with  you,  sir,  when  yon  are  free," 
continues  Philip,  not  having  leisure 
as  yet  to  be  surprised  at  the  other's 
demeanor. 

"  There  are  other  days  besides  Sun- 
day for  talk  on  business,"  says  that 
piteous  sly-boots  of  an  old  officer. 
Ah,  conscience !  conscience  !  Twen- 
ty-four Sikhs,  sword  in  hand,  two 
dozen  Pindarries,  Mahrattas,  Ghoor- 
kas,  what  you  please,  —  that  old  man 
felt  that  he  would  rather  have  met 
them  than  Philip's  unsuspecting  blue 
eyes.  These,  however,  now  lighted 
up  with  rather  an  angry,  "  Well,  sir, 
as  you  don't  talk  business  on  Sun- 
day, may  I  call  on  you  to-morrow 
morning  ?  " 

And  what  advantage  had  the  poor 
old  fellow  got  by  all  this  doubling 
and  hesitating  and  artfulness  ?  —  a 
respite  until  to  -  morrow  morning  ! 
Another  night  of  horrible  wakefulness 
and  hopeless  guilt,  and  Philip  wait- 
ing ready  the  next  morning  with  his 
little  bill,  and,  "  Please  pay  me  the 
thirty  thousand  which  my  father 
spent  and  you  owe  me.  Please  turn 
out  into  the  streets  with  your  wife 
and  family,  and  beg  and  starve. 
Have  the  goodness  to  hand  me  out 
your  last  rupee.  Be  kind  enough  to 
sell  your  children's  clothes,  and  your 
wife's  jewels,  and  hand  over  the  pro- 
ceeds to  me.  I  '11  call  to-morrow. 
Bye,  bye." 

Here  there  came  tripping  over  the 
marble  pavement  of  the  hall  of  the 
hotel  a  tall  young  lady  in  a  brown 
silk  dress,  and  rich  curling  ringlets 
falling  upon  her  fair  young  neck, — 
beautiful  brown  curling  ringlets,  voits 
coinprenez,  not  wisps  of  moistened 
hair,  and  a  broad,  clear  forehead,  and 
two  honest  eyes  shining  below  it,  and 
cheeks  not  pale  as  they  were  yester- 
day ;  and  lips  redder  still ;  aud  she 
says,  "  Papa,  papa,  won't  you  come 
to  breakfast  ?  The  tea  is  —  "  What 
the  precipe  state  of  the  tea  is  I  don't 
know,  —  none  of  us  ever  shall,  —  for 
here  she  says,  "  0  Mr.  Firmin  1  " 
and  makes  a  courtesy. 

To  which  remark  Philip  replied, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


19^ 


"  Miss  Baynes,  I  hope  yon  arc  very 
well  this  inoinin<r,  and  not  the  worse 
for  ycstofdiiy's  ronyli  weather." 

"  I  ain  quite  well,  thank  you,"  was 
Miss  Baynes's  instant  reply.  The 
answer  was  not  witty,  to  be  sure ;  but 
I  don't  know  that  under  the  circum- 
stances she  could  have  said  anything 
more  appropriate.  Indeed,  never  was 
a  pleasanter  picture  of  health  and 
good-lunnor  than  the  young  lady  pre- 
sented ;  a  difference  more  pleasant  to 
note  than  Miss  Cliarlotte's  pale  face 
from  the  steamboat  on  Saturday,  and 
shining,  rosy,  happy,  and  innocent, 
in  the  cloudless  Sabbath  morn. 


"A  Madame, 
"  Madame  le  Mtyor  MacWhirter, 
"  SI  Tours, 

"  Xouraine, 
"  France. 

"  TiNTELLERIBS,  BoULOGNE-SUR-MbR, 

"  fVednesday ,  August  21, 18 — . 
"  Dearest  Emily, —  After  suffer- 
ing more  dreadfully  in  the  tuv  hours' 
passa<:e  from  Folkestone  to  this  place 
than  I  have  in  four  passages  out  and 
home  from  India,  except  in  that  ter- 
rible storm  off  the  Cape,  in  Septem- 
ber, 1 824,  when  I  certainly  did  suffer 
most  cruelly  on  board  that  horrible 
troop-ship,  we  reached  this  place  last 
Saturday  evening,  having  a  full  deter- 
mination to  proceed  immediately  on 
our  route.  Now,  you  will  perceive 
that  our  minds  are  changed.  We 
found  this  place  pleasant,  and  the 
lodgings  besides  most  neat,  comfort- 
able, and  well  found  in  everything, 
more  reasonable  than  you  proposed  to 
get  for  us  at  Tours,  which  I  am  told 
also  is  damp,  and  might  bring  on  the 
General's  jungle  fever  again.  Owing 
to  the  whooping-cough  having  just 
been  in  the  house,  which,  praised  be 
mercy,  all  my  dear  ones  have  had  it, 
including  dear  baby,  who  is  quite  well 
through  it,  and  recommended  sea  air, 
we  got  this  house  more  reasonable  than 
prices  you  mention  at  Tours.  A 
whole  house  :  little  room  for  two 
boys ;  nursery ;  nice  little  room  for 
Charlotte,  and  a  den  for  the  General. 


I  don't  know  how  ever  we  should 
have  brought  our  party  safe  all  the 
way  to  Tours.  Thlrty-sevfU  ariiclcs 
of  luggage,  and  Miss  Flixby,  who 
announced  herself  as  perfect  French 
governess,  acquired  at  Paris,  —  per- 
fect, but  jwrfectly  useless.  She  can't 
understand  the  French  people  when 
they  speak  to  her,  and  goes  about  the 
house  ill  a  most  bewildering  way.  J  am 
the  interpreter ;  poor  Charlotte  is  much 
too  timid  to  speak  when  I  am  by.  I 
have  rubbed  up  the  old  French  which 
we  learned  at  Chiswick  at  Miss  Pink- 
crton's  ;  and  I  find  my  Ilindostanee  of 
great  help  :  which  I  use  it  when  we 
arc  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  and  it  an- 
swers  extremely   icell.      We    pay   for 

lodgings,  the  whole  hou.se francs 

per  month.  Butchers'  meat  and  poul- 
try plentiful  but  dear.  A  grocer  in 
the  Grande  Rue  sells  excellent  wine 
at  fifteenpence  per  bottle ;  and  grocer- 
ies pretty  much  at  English  prices. 
Mr.  Blowman  at  the  English  Chapel 
of  the  Tintelleries  has  a  fine  voice, 
and  appears  to  be  a  most  excellent  cler- 
gyman. I  have  heard  him  only  once, 
however,  on  Sunday  evening,  when  I 
was  so  agitated  and  so  unhappy  in  my 
mind  that  I  own  I  took  little  note  of 
his  sermon. 

"  The  cause  of  that  agitation  you 
know,  having  imparted  it  to  you  in 
my  letters  of  July,  June,  and  24th  of 
May,  ult.  My  poor  simple,  guileless 
Baynes  was  trustee  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Fir- 
min,  before  she  married  that  most  un- 
principled man.  When  we  were  at 
home  last,  and  exchanged  to  the  120th 
from  the  99th,  my  poor  husband  was 
inveigled  by  the  horrid  man  into  sign- 
ing a  paper  which  put  the  Doctor  in 
possession  of  all  his  wife's  properly ; 
whereas  Charles  thought  he  was  only 
signing  a  power  of  attorney,  enabling 
him  to  receive  his  son's  dividends. 
Dr.  F.,  after  the  most  atrocious  deceit, 
forgery,  and  criminality  of  every  kind, 
fled  the  country ;  and  Hunt  and  Peg- 
ler,  our  solicitors,  informed  us  that 
the  General  was  answerable  for  t/ie 
wickedness  of  this  miscreant.  He  is 
so  weak  that  he  has  been  many  and 


200 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


many  times  on  the  point  of  going  to 
young  Mr.  F.  and  giving  up  every- 
thing. It  was  only  by  my  prayers, 
by  my  commands,  that  I  have  been 
enabled  to  keep  him  quiet;  and,  in- 
deed, Emily,  the  effort  has  almost 
kilkd  him.  Brandy  reijcatcdly  I  was 
obliged  to  administer  on  tlie  dreadful 
itif/'U  of  our  arrival  here. 

"  For  the  Jird  person  we   met  on 
landing  was  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  with 
a  jii-rt  friend  uj  his,  Mr.  Pendennis, 
wliom  I  don't  at  all  like,  thouirh  his 
wifj  is  an  Hmiable  person  like  Emma 
Fietcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery  :  not 
with  Emma's  sh//:',  however,  but  still 
amiable,   and   disposed    to    be   most 
civil.     Charlotte   has   taken   a  great 
fancy  to  her,  as  she  always  does  to 
every  new  person.     Well,  fancy  our  ] 
state  on  landing,  when  a  young  gen-  • 
tleman  calls  out,  '  How  do  you  do,  ! 
General  1 '  and  turns  out  to  be  Mr.  ' 
Firmin !      I  thought  I  should  have 
lost   Charles  in   the   night.     I  have  i 
seen  him  before  going  into  action  as  j 
calm,  and  slecj)  and  smile  as  sweet  as 
any  balte.     It  was  all  I  could  do  to  j 
keep  up  his   counige :   and,    but  for  ! 
me,  but  for  my  prayers,  but  for  my  < 
oijonies,  I  think  he  would  have  jumped  \ 
out  of  bed,  and  gone  to  »VIr.  F.  that  i 
night,  and  said,  '  Take  everything  I  ] 
have.' 

"  The  young  man,  I  own,  has  be- ' 
haved  in  the  most  honorable  ivay.  He  I 
came  to  see  us  before  bre'ikfusl  on  Sun- 
day, when  the  poor  General  was  so  I 
ill  that  I  thought  he  would  have 
fainted  over  his  tea.  He  was  too  ill  to 
go  to  church,  where  I  went  alone, 
with  my  dear  ones,  having,  as  I  own, 
but  very  small  comfort  in  the  sermon  : 
but  O  Emily,  fancy,  on  our  return, 
when  I  went  into  our  room,  I  found 
my  General  on  his  knees  with  his 
Church  service  before  him,  crying, 
crying  like  a  baby  !  You  know  I  am 
hasty  in  my  temper  sometimes,  and 
his  is  indfi'd  an  am/el's,  —  and  I  said 
to  hi:n,  '  Charles  Baynes,  be  a  man, 
and  don't  cry  like  a  child!'  'Ah,' 
says  he,  '  Eliza,  do  you  kneel,  and 
thank  God  too  ' ;  on  which  I  said  that 


I  thought  I  did  not  require  instruc- 
tion in  my  religion  from  him  ov  any 
man,  except  a  clergyman,  and  many 
of  these  are  but  poor  instructors,  as  yoa 
know. 

"  '  He  has  been  here,'  says  Charles ; 
when  I  said,  '  Who  has  been  here  ? ' 
'  That  noble  young  fellow,'  s:iys  my 
General ;  '  that  noble,  noble  Philip 
Firmin.'  Which  noble  his  conduct  I 
own  it  has  been.  '  Whilst  you  were 
at  church  he  came  again,  —  here  into 
this  very  room,  where  I  was  sitting, 
doubting  and  despairing,  with  the 
Holy  Book  iK-fore  my  eyes,  and  no 
comlort  out  of  it.  And  he  said  to  me, 
"  General,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  altout 
my  grandfather's  will.  You  don't 
suppose  that  l)ecause  my  father  has 
deceived  you  and  ruined  me,  I  will 
carry  the  ruin  further,  and  visit  his 
wrong  upon  ihildren  and  innocent 
jK'ople  1 "  Those  were  the  young 
man's  words,'  my  Greneral  said;  and, 
'  O  Eliza ! '  says  he,  '  what  pangs 
of  reinorsa  I  felt  when  I  remembered 
we  had  used  hanl  words  alxjut  him,' 
which  I  o.vn  we  had,  for  his  manners 
are  rough  and  haughty,  and  I  have 
heard  things  of  him  which  I  do  believe 
now  can't  be  true. 

"  All  Monday  my  poor  man  was 
obliged  to  keep  his  bed  with  a  smart 
attack  of  his  fever.  But  yesterday  he 
was  quite  bright  and  well  again,  and 
the  Pendennis  party  took  Charlotte 
for  a  drive,  and  showed  themselves 
most  polite.  She  reminds  me  of  Mrs. 
Tom  Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery, 
but  th;it  I  think  I  have  mentioned  be- 
fore. My  paper  is  full ;  and  with  our 
best  to  MacWhirter  and  the  children, 
I  am  always  my  dearest  Emily's  af- 
fectionate sister, 

"Eliza  Batnes." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

B  R  E.V  IS      ESSE      LABORO. 

Neveu,  General  Baynes  afterwards 
declared,  did  fever  come  and  go  so 
pleasantly  as  that  attack  to  which  we 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


201 


have  seen  the  Mrs.  General  advert  in 
her  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter.  The  cold  lit  was 
merely  a  lively,  pleasant  chatter  and 
rattle  of  the  teeth ;  the  hot  fit  an 
agreeable  warmth ;  and  though  the 
ensuing  sleep,  with  which  I  believe 
such  aguish  attacks  are  usually  con- 
cluded, was  enlivened  by  several 
dreams  of  death,  demons,  and  tor- 
ture, how  felicitous  it  was  to  wake 
and  find  that  dreadful  thought  of  ruin 
removed  which  had  always,  for  the 
last  few  months,  ever  since  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  flight  and  the  knowledge  of  his 
own  imprudence,  pursued  the  good- 
natured  gentleman  !  What !  this  boy 
might  go  to  college,  and  that  get  his 
commission  ;  and  their  meals  need  be 
imbittered  by  no  more  dreadful 
thoughts  of  the  morrow,  and  their 
walks  no  longer  were  dogged  by  im- 
aginary bailiffs,  and  presented  ti  jail 
in  the  vista !  It  was  too  much  bliss  ; 
and  again  and  again  the  old  soldier 
said  his  thankful  prayers,  and  blessed 
his  benefactor. 

Pliilip  thought  no  more  of  his  act 
of  kindness,  except  to  be  very  grate- 
ful, and  very  happy  that  he  had  ren- 
dered other  people  so.  He  could  no 
more  have  taken  the  old  man's  all, 
and  plunged  that  innocent  family  into 
poverty,  than  he  could  have  stolen  the 
forks  off  my  table  But  other  folks 
were  disposed  to  rate  his  virtue  much 
more  highly ;  and  amongst  these  was 
my  wife,  who  chose  positively  to  wor- 
ship this  young  gentleman,  an<l  I  be- 
lieve would  have  let  him  smoke  in  her 
drawing-room  if  he  had  been  so 
minded,  and  though  her  gcnteelest 
ncquiiintances  were  in  the  i"oom. 
Goodness  knows  what  a  noise  and 
what  piteous  looks  arc  produced  if 
ever  the  master  of  the  house  chooses 
to  indulge  in  a  cigar  after  dinner ;  but 
tlien,  you  understand,  /  have  never 
declined  to  claim  mine  and  my  chil- 
dren's right  because  an  old  gentleman 
would  be  inconvenienced  :  and  this  is 
what  I  tell  Mrs.  Pen.  If  I  order  a 
coat  from  my  tailor,  must  I  refuse  to 
pay  him  because  a  rogue  steals  it, 
9* 


and  ought  I  to  expect  to  be  let  off? 
Women  won't  see  matters  of  fact  in  a 
matter-of-fact  point  of  view,  and  jus- 
tice, unless  it  is  tinged  with  a  little 
romance,  gets  no  respect  from  tliem. 

So,  forsooth,  because  Philip  lias 
performed  this  certainly  most  gene- 
rous, most  dashing,  most  reckless  piece 
of  extravagance,  he  is  to  be  held  up 
as  a  perfect  prevx  chevalier.  The 
most  riotous  dinners  are  ordered  for 
Iiim.  We  are  to  wait  until  he  comes 
to  breakfast,  and  he  is  pretty  nearly 
always  late.  The  children  are  to  l)e 
sent  round  to  kiss  Uncle  Philip,  as  he 
is  now  called.  The  children  ?  I 
wonder  the  mother  did  not  jump  up 
and  kiss  him  too.  Elle.  en  e'tuit  capa- 
ble. As  for  the  osculations  which 
took  place  between  Mrs.  Pendennis 
and  her  new-found  young  friend.  Miss 
Charlotte  Baynes,  they  were  perfectly 
ridiculous ;  two  school-children  could 
not  have  behaved  more  absurdly ; 
and  I  don't  know  which  seemed  to  be 
the  younger  of  these  two.  There 
were  collo<|uies,  assignations,  meet- 
ings on  the  ramparts,  on  the  pier, 
where  know  I?  —  and  the  servants 
and  little  children  of  the  two  estab- 
lishments were  perpetually  trotting  to 
and  fro  with  letters  from  dearest 
Laura  to  dearest  Charlotte,  and  dear- 
est Charlotte  to  her  dearest  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis. Why,  my  wife  absolutely 
went  the  length  of  saying  that  dear- 
est Charlotte's  mother,  Mrs.  Baynes, 
was  a  worthy,  clever  woman,  and 
a  good  mother,  —  a  woman  whose 
tongue  never  ceased  clacking  about 
the  regiment,  and  all  the  office rt,,  and 
all  the  officers'  wives ;  of  wliom,  by 
the  way,  she  had  verv  little  good  to 
tell. 

"  A  worthy  mother,  is  she,  my 
dear?"  I  say.  "But,  O  mercy! 
Mrs.  Baynes  would  be  an  awful 
mother-in-law ! " 

I  siuiddered  at  the  thought  of  hav- 
ing such  a  commonplace,  hard,  ill- 
bred  woman  in  a  state  of  quasi  au- 
thority over  me. 

On  this  Mrs.  Laura  must  break  out 
in  quite  a  petulant  tone,  —  "O  how 


202 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


^tale  this  kind  of  thin<r  is,  Arthur, 
from  a  man  qui  vent  passer  pour  un 
homme  d'espril!  You  are  always  at- 
tackiuj^  mothers-in-law !  " 

"  Witness  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  my 
love,  —  Clive  Newcome's  mother-in- 
law.  That's  a  nice  creature;  not 
selfish,  not  wicked,  not  —  " 

"  Not  nonsense,  Arthur !  " 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  knew  Mrs.  Macken- 
zie in  the  West  Indies,  as  she  knew  all 
the  female  army.  She  considers  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  was  a  most  elegant,  hand- 
some, dashing  woman, — only  a  little 
too  fond  of  the  admiration  of  our  sex. 
There,  was  I  own,  a  fascination  about 
Captain  Goby.  Do  you  remember, 
my  love,  that  man  with  the  stays  and 
dyed  hair,  who  —  " 

"  O  Arthur !  When  our  girls  mar- 
ry, I  suppose  you  will  teach  their  hus- 
bands to  abuse,  and  scorn,  and  mis- 
trust their  mother-in-law.  Will  he, 
my  darlings  ?  will  he,  my  blessings  1  " 
('fhis  apart  to  the  children,  if  you 
please.)  "Go!  I  have  no  patience 
with  such  talk !  " 

"  Well,  my  love,  Mrs.  Baynes  is  a 
most  agreeable  woman  ;  and  when  I 
have  heard  that  story  about  the  High- 
landers at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  a 
k\v  times  more  "  (I  do  not  tell 
it  here,  for  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  present  history),  "  I  dare  say  I 
shall  l>egin  to  be  amused  by  it." 

"  Ah !  here  comes  Charlotte,  I  'm 
glad  to  say.  How  pretty  she  is ! 
What  a  color!  What  a  dear  crea- 
ture !  " 

To  all  which  of  course  I  could 
not  say  a  contradictory  word,  for  a 
l)retticr,  fresher  lass  than  Miss  Baynes 
with  a  sweeter  voice,  face,  laughter, 
it  was  difficult  to  see. 

"  Why  does  mamma  like  Charlotte 
better  than  she  likes  us  ?  "  says  our 
dear  and  justly  indignant  eldest  girl. 

"  I  could  not  love  her  better  if  I 
were  her  motlter-in-law,"  says  Laura, 
running  to  her  young  friend,  casting 
a  glance  at  me  over  her  shoulder ; 
and  that  kissing  nonsense  begins  be- 
tween the  two  ladies.  To  be  sure  the 
girl  looks   uncommonly   bright  and 


pretty  with  her  pink  cheeks,  her  bright 
eyes,  her  slim  form,  and  that  charm- 
ing white  India  shawl  which  her  fa- 
ther brought  home  for  her. 

To  this  osculatory  party  enters 
presently  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  who  has 
i  been  dawdling  about  the  ramparts 
ever  since  breakfast.  He  says  he  has 
been  reading  law  there.  He  has 
found  a  jolly  quiet  place  to  read. 
Law,  has  he  ?  And  much  good  may 
it  do  him  !  Why  has  he  not  gone 
back  to  his  law  and  liis  reviewing  ? 

"  You  must  —  you  must  stay  on  a 
little  longer.  You  have  only  been 
here  five  days.  Do,  Charlotte,  ask 
Philip  to  stay  a  little." 

All  the  children  sing  in  a  chorus, 
"  O,  do.  Uncle  Philip,  stay  a  little 
longer ! "  Miss  Baynes  says,  "  I  hope 
you  will  stay,  Mr.  Firmin,"  and  looks 
at  him. 

"Five  days  has  he  been  here? 
Five  years.  Five  lives.  Five  hun- 
dred years.  What  do  you  mean? 
In  that  little  time  of — let  me  see,  a 
hundred  and  twenty  hours,  and,  at 
least,  a  half  of  them  for  sleep  and 
dinner  (for  Philip's  appetite  was  very 
fine), — do  you  mean  that  in  that  lit- 
tle time,  his  heart,  cruelly  stabbed  by 
a  previous  monster  in  female  shape, 
has  healed,  got  quite  well,  and  actual- 
ly begun  to  be  wounded  again  1  Have 
two  walks  on  the  pier,  as  many  visits 
to  the  Tintelleries  (where  he  hears 
the  story  of  the  Highlanders  at  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope  with  respectful 
interest),  a  word  or  two  about  the 
weather,  a  look  or  two,  a  squeezekin, 
perhaps,  of  a  little  handykin,  —  I  say, 
do  you  mean  that  this  absurd  young 
idiot,  and  that  little,  round-faced  girl, 
prett}-,  certainly,  but  only  just  out  of 
the  school-room, — do  you  mean  to 
say  that  they  have  —  Uj)on  my  word, 
Laura,  this  is  too  bad.  Why,  Philip 
has  not  a  penny  piece  in  the  world.' 

"  Yes,  he  has  a  hundred  pounds, 
and  expects  to  sell  his  mare  for  ninety 
at  least.  He  has  excellent  talents. 
He  can  easily  write  three  articles  a 
week  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  I  am 
sure  no  one  writes  so  well,  and  it  is 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


203 


much  better  done  and  more  amusing 
than  it  used  to  be.  That  is  three 
hundred  a  year.  Lord  Ringwood 
must  be  applied  to,  and  must  and 
phall  get  him  something.  Don't  you 
know  that  Captain  Baynes  stood  by 
Colonel  Ringwood's  side  at  Busaco, 
and  that  they  were  the  closest  friends  ? 
And  pray  how  did  we  get  on,  I  should 
like  to  know  1  How  did  we  get  on, 
baby  ? " 

"  How  did  we  det  on  ?  "  says  the 
baby. 

"  0  woman  !  woman  !  "  yells  the 
father  of  the  family.  "  Why,  Philip 
Firmin  has  all  the  habits  of  a  rich 
man  with  the  pay  of  a  mechanic. 
Do  you  suppose  he  ever  sat  in  a  sec- 
ond-class carriage  in  his  life,  or  denied 
himself  any  pleasure  to  which  he  had 
a  mind?  He  gave  five  francs  to  a 
beggar-girl  yesterday." 

"  He  had  always  a  noble  heart," 
says  my  wife.  "  He  gave  a  fortune 
to  a  whole  family  a  week  ago  ;  and  " 
(out  comes  the  pocket-handkerchief 
—  O,  of  course,  the  pocket-handker- 
chief) —  "  and  — '  God  loves  a  cheer- 
ful giver ! ' " 

"  He  is  careless ;  he  is  extravagant ; 
he  is  lazy; — 1  don't  know  that  he  is 
remarkably  clever  —  " 

"  0  yes !  he  is  your  friend,  of 
course.  Now,  abuse  him,  —  do,  Ar- 
thur ! " 

"  And,  pray,  when  did  you  become 
acquainted  with  this  astounding  piece 
of  news  ?  "  I  inquire. 

"  When  ?  From  the  very  first  mo- 
ment when  I  saw  Charlotte  looking 
at  him,  to  be  sure.  The  poor  child 
said  to  me  only  yesterday, '  O  Lau- 
ra !  he  is  our  preserver  ! '  And  their 
preserver  he  has  been,  under  Heaven." 

"  Yes.  But  he  has  not  got  a  five- 
pound  note  !  "  I  cry. 

"  Arthur,  I  am  surprised  at  you. 
(),  men  are  awfully  worldly !  Do 
you  suppose  Heaven  will  not  send 
him  help  at  its  good  time,  and  be  kind 
to  him  who  has  rescued  so  many  from 
ruin  ?  Do  you  suppose  the  j)rayers, 
the  blessings  of  that  father,  of  those 
little  ones,  of  that  dear  child,  will  not 


\  avail  him  ?     Suppose  he  has  to  wait 
a  year,  ten  years,  have  they  not  time, 
•  and  will  not  the  good  day  come  ?  " 

Yes.  This  was  actually  the  talk  of 
a  woman  of  sense  and  discernment, 
when  her  prejudices  and  romance 
were  not  in  the  way,  and  she  looked 
forward  to  the  marriage  of  these  folks 
some  ten  years  hence,  as  confidently 
as  if  they  were  both  rich,  and  going  to 
St.  George's  to-morrow. 

As  for  making  a  romantic  story  of 
it,  or  spinning  out  love  conversations 
between  Jenny  and  Jessamy,  or  de- 
scribing moonlight  raptures  and  pas- 
sionate outpourings  of  two  young 
hearts  and  so  forth,  —  excuse  me,  s'il 
voiis  plait.  I  am  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  of  a  certain  age.  Let  the  young 
people  fill  in  this  outline,  and  color  it 
as  they  please.  Let  the  old  folks  who 
read  lay  down  the  book  a  minute,  and 
remember.  It  is  well  remembered,  is 
n't  it,  that  time  ?  Yes,  good  John 
Anderson,  and  Mrs.  John  Yes,  good 
Darby  and  Joan.  The  lips  won't  tell 
now  what  they  did  once.  To-day  is 
for  the  happy,  and  to-morrow  for  the 
young,  and  yesterday,  is  not  that  dear 
and  here  too  ? 

I  was  in  the  company  of  an  elderly 
gentleman,  not  very  long  since,  who 
was  perfectly  sober,  who  is  not  par- 
ticularly handsome,  or  healthy,  or 
wealthy,  or  witty  ;  and  who,  speaking 
of  his  past  life,  volunteered  to  declare 
that  he  would  gladly  live  every  min- 
ute of  it  over  again.  Is  a  man  who 
can  say  that  a  hardened  sinner,  not 
aware  how  miserable  he  ought  to  be 
by  rights,  and  therefore  really  in  a 
most  desperate  and  deplorable  condi- 
tion ;  or  is  he  fortunatus  nimium,  and 
ought  his  statue  to  be  put  up  in  the 
most  splendid  and  crowded  thorough- 
fare of  the  town  ?  Would  you,  who 
are  reading  this,  for  example,  like  to 
live  you7-  life  over  again  1  What  has 
been  its  chief  joy  ?  What  arc  to-day's 
pleasures  ?  Are  they  so  exquisite 
that  you  would  prolong  them  forever? 
Would  you  like  to  have  the  roast  beef 
on  which  you  have  dined  brought 
back  again  to  table,  and  have  mora 


204 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


beef,  and  more,  and  more?  Would 
you  like  to  hear  yesterday's  sermon 
over  and  over  again,  —  eternally  vol- 
uble 1  Would  you  like  to  get  on  the 
Edinburgh  mail,  and  travel  outside  for 
fifty  hours  as  you  did  in  your  youth  1 
You  might  as  well  say  you  would  like 
to  go  into  the  flogging-room,  and  take 
a  turn  under  the  rods  ;  you  would  like 
to  be  thrashed  over  again  by  your  bully 
at  school ;  you  would  like  to  go  to  the 
dentist's,  where  your  dear  parents  were 
in  the  habit  of  taking  you  ;  you  would 
like  to  be  taking  hot  Epsom  salts, 
with  a  piece  of  dry  bread  to  take 
away  tlic  taste ;  you  would  like  to  be 
jilted  l)y  your  first  love  ;  you  would 
like  to  be  going  in  to  your  father  to 
tell  him  you  had  contracted  debts  to 
the  amount  of  x+y+z,  whilst  you 
were  at  the  University.  As  I  consider 
the  passionate  griefs  of  childhood,  the 
weariness  and  sameness  of  shaving, 
the  agony  of  corns,  and  the  thousand 
other  ills  to  which  flesh  is  heir,  I 
cheerfully  say  for  one,  I  am  not  anx- 
ious to  wear  it  forever.  No.  I 
do  not  want  to  go  to  school  again. 
I  do  not  want  to  hear  Trotman's  ser- 
mon over  again.  Take  me  out  and 
finish  me.  Give  me  the  cup  of  hem- 
lock at  once.  Here 's  a  health  to  you, 
my  lads.  Don't  weep,  my  Simmias. 
Be  cheerful,  my  Phaedon.  Ha!  I 
feel  the  co-o-old  stealing,  stealing  up- 
wards. Now  it  is  in  my  ankles,  — 
no  more  gout  in  my  foot ;  now  my 
knees  are  numb.  What,  is  —  is  that 
poor  executioner  crying  too  1  Good 
by.  Sacrifice  a  cock  to  ^scu  —  to 
JEscula  —  ...  Have  you  ever  read 
tiie  chiipter  in  "  Grote's  History  "  ? 
All !  When  the  Sacred  Ship  returns 
from  Delos,  and  is  telegraphed  as  en- 
tering into  port,  may  we  be  at  peace 
and  ready  ! 

What  is  this  funeral  chant,  when 
the  pipes  should  be  playing  gayly  as 
Love,  and  Youth,  and  Spring,  and 
Joy  are  dancing  under  the  windows  7 
Look  you.  Men  not  so  wise  as  Soc- 
rates have  th"ir  demons,  who  will  be 
heard  to  whisper  in  the  ([ueerest  times 
And  places.     Perhaps   I  shall  have  to 


tell  of  a  funeral  presently,  and  shall 
be  outrageously  cheerful ;  or  of  an 
execution,  and  shall  split  my  sides 
with  laughing.  Arrived  at  my  time 
of  life,  when  I  see  a  penniless  young 
j  friend  falling  in  love  and  thinking  of 
j  course  of  committing  matrimony, 
what  can  I  do  but  be  melancholy  ? 
How  is  a  man  to  marry  who  has  not 
enough  to  keep  ever  so  miniature  a 
I  brougham,  —  ever  so  small  a  house, 
I  —  not  enough  to  keep  himself,  let 
alone  a  wife  and  family  ?  Gracious 
powers  !  is  it  not  blasphemy  to  marry 
without  fifteen  hundred  a  year? 
Poverty,  debt,  protested  bills,  duns, 
crime,  fall  assuredly  on  the  wretch 
:  who  has  not  fifteen  —  say  at  once  two 
I  thousand  a  year ;  for  you  can't  live 
!  decently  in  London  for  less.  And  a 
I  wife  whom  you  have  met  a  score  of 
i  times  at  balls  or  breakfasts,  and  with 
her  best  dresses  and  behavior  at  a 
1  country-house ;  —  how  do  you  know 
how  she  will  turn  out ;  what  her 
temper  is ;  what  her  relations  are 
likely  to  be  ?  Suppose  she  has  poor 
relations,  or  loud  coarse  brothers  who 
are  always  dropping  in  to  dinner? 
What  is  her  mother  like  ?  and  can 
you  bear  to  have  that  woman 
meddling  and  domineering  over  your 
establishment  ?  Old  General  Baynes 
was  very  well ;  a  weak,  quiet,  and 
presentable  old  man  :  but  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes,  and  that  awful  Mrs. 
Major  MacWhirter,  —  and  those  hob- 
bledehoys of  boys  in  creaking  shoes, 
hectoring  about  the  premises  1  As  a 
man  of  the  world  I  saw  all  these 
dreadful  liabilities  impending  over 
the  husband  of  Miss  Charlotte 
Baynes,  and  could  not  view  them 
without  horror.  Gracefully  and 
slightly,  bnt  wittily  and  in  my  sarcas- 
tic way,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to 
show  up  the  oddities  of  the  Baynes 
family  to  Philip.  I  mimicked  the 
boys,  and  their  clumping  blucher- 
boots.  I  touched  off  the  dreadful 
military  ladies,  very  smartly  and 
cleverly  as  I  thought,  and  as  if  I 
never  su|)posed  that  Philip  had  any 
idea  of  Miss    Baynes.     To  do   him 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


205 


justice,  he  laughed  once  or  twice ; 
then  he  grew  very  red.  His 
sense  of  humor  is  very  limited ; 
that  even  Laura  allows.  Then  he 
came  out  with  strong  expression,  and 
said  it  was  a  confounded  shame,  and 
strode  off  with  his  cigar.  And  when 
I  remarked  to  my  wife  how  suscepti- 
ble he  was  in  some  things,  and  liow 
little  in  the  matter  of  joking,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said, 
"  Philip  not  only  understood  perfectly 
well  what  I  said,  but  would  tell  it  all 
to  Mrs.  General  and  Mrs.  Major  on 
the  first  opportunity."  And  this  was 
the  fact,  as  Mrs.  Baynes  took  care  to 
tell  me  afterwards.  She  was  aware 
who  was  her  tiiemy.  She  was  aware 
who  spoke  ill  of  her,  and  her  blessed 
darling  behind  our  backs.  And  "  do 
you  think  it  was  to  see  you,  or  any 
one  belonging  to  your  stuck-up  house, 
sir,  that  we  came  to  you  so  often, 
which  we  certainly  did,  day  and  night, 
breakfast  and  supper,  and'  no  thanks 
to  you  ?  No,  sir  !  ha,  ha  !  "  I  can 
see  her  flaunting  out  of  my  sitting- 
room  as  she  speaks,  with  a  strident 
laugh,and  snapping  her  dingily  gloved 
fingers  at  the  door.  O  Philip, 
Philip !  To  think  that  you  were  such 
a  coward  as  to  go  and  tell  her  !  But  I 
pardon  him.  From  my  heart  I  pity 
and  pardon  him. 

For  the  step  which  he  is  meditating 
you  may  lie  sure  that  the  young  man 
himself  does  not  feel  the  smallest  need 
of  pardon  or  pity.  He  is  in  a  state  of 
happiness  so  crazy  that  it  is  useless 
to  reason  with  him.  Not  l)einsr  at  all 
of  a  poetical  turn  originally,  the 
wretch  is  actually  perpetrating  verse 
in  secret,  and  my  servants  found 
fragments  of  his  manuscript^  on 
the  dressing-table  in  his  bedroom. 
Heart  and  art,  sei-er  and  foret'er.  and 
so  on  ;  what  stale  rhymes  are  these  ?  ! 
I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  .in  en-  I 
tire  the  poem  which  our  maid  found 
in  Mr.  Philip's  room,  and  brought 
sniggering  to  my  wife,  who  only  said, 
"  Poor  thing  !  "  The  fact  is,  it  was 
too  pitiable.  Such  maundering  rub- 
bish !     Such  stale  rhymes,  and  such 


old  thoughts  !  But  then,  says  Laura, 
"  I  dare  say  all  people's  love-making 
is  not  amusing  to  their  neighbors  ; 
and  I  know  who  wrote  not  very  wise 
love-verses  when  he  was  young." 
No,  I  won't  publish  Philip's  verses, 
until  some  day  he  shall  mortally 
offend  me.  I  can  recall  some  of  my 
own  writtCTi  under  similar  circum- 
stances with  twinges  of  shame ;  and 
shall  drop  a  veil  of  decent  friendship 
over  my  friend's  folly. 

Under  that  veil,  meanwhile,  the 
young  man  is  perfectly  contented, 
nay,  uproariously  happy.  All  earth 
and  nature  smiles  round  about  him. 
"  When  Jove  meets  his  Juno,  in 
Homer,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  his  hec- 
toring way,  "  don't  immortal  flowers 
of  beauty  spring  u])  around  them,  and 
rainbows  of  celestial  hues  bend  over 
their  heads  !  Love,  sir,  flings  a  halo 
round  the  loved  one.  Where  she 
moves  rise  roses,  hyacinths,  and  am- 
brosial odors.  Don't  talk  to  me 
about  poverty,  sir  !  He  either  fears 
his  fate  too  much  or  his  desert  is 
small,  who  dares  not  put  it  to  the 
touch  and  win  or  lose  it  all ! 
Have  n't  I  endured  poverty  ?  Ami 
not  as  poor  now  as  a  man  can  be,  — 
and  what  is  there  in  it  ?  Do  I  want 
for  anything  ?  Have  n't  I  got  a 
guinea  in  my  pocket  ?  Do  I  owe  any 
man  anything  ?  Isn't  there  manna 
in  the  wilderness  for  those  who  have 
faith  to  walk  in  it  1  That  's  where 
you  fail.  Pen.  By  all  that  is  sacred, 
you  have  no  faith  ;  your  heart  is  cow- 
ardly, sir;  and  if' you  are  to  escape, 
as  perhaps  you  may,  I  suspect  it 
is  by  your  wife  that  you  will  be  saved. 
Laura  has  a  trust  in  Heaven,  but  Ar- 
thur's morals  are  a  genteel  atheism. 
Just  reach  me  that  claret, —  the  wine  's 
not  bad.  I  say  your  morals  are  a 
genteel  atheism,  and  I  sliudder  wlicn 
I  think  of  your  condition.  Talk  to 
me  about  a  brougham  being  necessary 
for  the  comfort  of  a  Avoinan !  A 
broomstick  to  ride  to  the  moon ! 
And  I  don't  say  that  a  brougham  is 
not  a  comfort,  mind  you  ;  but  that, 
when   it   is   a   necessity,   mark  you. 


'jCG 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Heaven  will  provide  it !  Why,  sir, 
hang  it,  look  at  me  !  Ain't  1  suffer- 
ing in  the  most  abject  poverty?  I 
ask  you  is  there  a  mun  in  London  so 
poor  as  I  am  ?  And  since  my  father's 
ruin  do  I  want  tor  anything  ?  I  want 
for  shelter  for  a  day  or  two.  Good. 
There  's  my  dear  Little  Sister  ready 
to  give  it  me.  I  want  for  money. 
Does  not  that  sainted  widow's  cruse 
pour  its  oil  out  for  me "?  Heaven 
bless  and  reward  her.  Boo  !  "  ( Here, 
for  reasons  which  need  not  be  named, 
the  orator  squeezes  his  fists  into  his 
eyes.)  "  I  want  shelter;  ain't  I  in 
good  quarters  ?  I  want  work ; 
have  n't  I  got  work,  and  did  you  not 
get  it  for  raol  You  should  just  see, 
sir,  how  I  polished  off  that  book  of 
travels  this  morning.  I  read  some 
of  the  article  to  Char —  to  Miss  — 
to  some  friends,  in  fact.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  they  are  very  intel- 
lectual people,  but  your  common 
humdrum  average  audience  is  the 
public  to  try.  Recollect  Moliere  and 
his  housekeeper,  you  know." 

"  By  the  housekeeper,  do  you  mean 
Mrs.  Baynes  ?  "  I  ask,  in  my  ainoiitd- 
lado  manner.  (By  the  way,  who 
ever  heard  of  aniontil/ado  in  the  early 
days  of  which  I  write?)  "In  man- 
ner she  would  do ;  and  I  dare  say  in 
accomplishments  ;  but  I  doubt  about 
l^cr  temper." 

"You're  almost  as  worldly  as  the 
Twysdens,  by  George,  you  are !  Un- 
less persons  are  of  a  certain  moiide, 
you  don't  value  them.  A  little  ad- 
versity would  do  you  good.  Pen ;  and 
I  heartily  wish  you  might  get  it,  ex- 
cept fur  the  dear  wife  and  children. 
You  measure  your  morality  by  May 
Fair  standards ;  and  if  an  angel  una- 
wares came  to  you  in  pattens  and  a 
cotton  umbrella,  you  would  turn  away 
from  her.  Yon  would  never  have  found 
out  the  Little  Sister.  A  duchess  — 
God  bless  her !  A  creature  of  an  im- 
perial generosity,  and  delicacy,  and 
intrepidity,  and  the  finest  sense  of 
humor;  but  she  drops  her  lis  ofti-n, 
and  how  could  you  pardon  such  a 
crime?     Sir,  you   are  niy   better  in 


wit  and  a  dexterous  application  of 
your  powers ;  but  I  think,  sir,"  says 
Pliil,  curling  the  flaming  mustache, 
"  I  am  your  superior  in  a  certain 
magnanimity ;  though,  by  Jove,  old 
fellow,  man  and  boy,  you  have  always 
been  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the 
world  to  P.  F. ;  one  of  the  best  fel- 
lows, and  the  most  generous,  and 
the  most  cordial,  —  that  you  have : 
only  you  do  rile  me  when  you  sing  in 
that  confounded  May  Fair  twang." 

Here  one  of  the  children  summoned 
us  to  tea,  —  and  "  Papa  was  laugh- 
ing, and  Uncle  Philip  was  flinging 
his  hands  about  and  pulling  his  beard 
off,"  said  the  little  messenger. 

"  I  shall  keep  a  fine  lock  of  it  for 
you,  Nelly,  my  dear,"  says  Uncle 
Philip.  On  which  the  child  said, 
"  O  no  !  I  know  whom  you  '11  give 
it  to,  don't  I,  mamma  1 "  and  she 
goes  up  to  her  mamma,  and  whispers. 

Miss  Nelly  knows  ?  At  what  age 
do  those  little  match  makers  begin  to 
know,  and  l.ow  soon  do  they  practise 
the  use  of  their  young  eyes,  their  lit- 
tle smiles,  wiles,  and  ogles  ?  This 
young  woman,  I  believe,  coquetted 
whilst  she  was  yet  a  baby  in  arms, 
over  her  nurse's  shoulder.  Before  she 
could  speak,  she  could  be  proud  of  her 
new  vermilion  shoes,  and  would  point 
out  the  charms  of  her  blue  sash. 
She  was  jealous  in  the  nunsery,  and 
her  little  heart  had  beat  for  years  and 
years  before  she  left  off  pinafores. 

For  whom  will  Philip  keep  a  lock 
of  that  red,  red  gold  which  curls 
round  his  face  ?  Can  you  guess  1 
Of  what  color  is  the  hair  in  that  lit- 
tle locket  which  the  gentleman  him- 
.self  occultly  wears  1  A  few  months 
ago,  I  believe,  a  pale  straw-colored 
wisp  of  hair  occupied  that  place  of 
honor;  now  it  is  a  chestnut-brown, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  of  precisely  tlie 
same  color  as  that  which  waves  round 
Charlotte  Baynes "s  pretty  face,  and 
tumbles  in  clusters  on  her  neck,  very 
nearly  the  color  of  Mrs.  Paynter's 
this  last  season.  So,  you  see,  we 
chop  and  we  change :  straw  gives 
place  to  chestnut,  and  chestnut  is  sue- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


207 


ceeded  by  ebonjr;  and,  for  our  own 
parts,  we  defy  time ;  and  if  you  want 
a  lock  of  my  hair,  Belinda,  take  this 
pair  of  scissors,  and  look  in  that  cup- 
board, in  the  bandbox  marked  No.  3, 
and  cut  off  a  thick  glossy  piece,  dai'- 
ling,  and  wear  it,  dear,  and  my  bless- 
ings go  with  thee !  What  is  this  ? 
Am  1  sneering  because  Corydon  and 
Pliyllis  are  wooing  and  happy  1  You 
see  I  pledged  myself  not  to  have  any 
sentimental  nonsense.  To  describe 
love-making  is  immoral  and  immod- 
est ;  you  know  it  is.  To  describe  it 
as  it  really  is,  or  would  appear  to  you 
and  me  as  lookers-on,  would  be  to 
describe  the  most  dreary  farce,  to 
chronicle  the  most  tautological  twad- 
dle. To  take  a  note  of  sighs,  hand- 
squeezes,  looks  at  the  moon,  and  so 
forth,  —  does  this  business  lx.'come  our 
dignity  as  historians  ?  Come  away 
from  those  foolish  young  people,  — 
they  don't  want  us ;  and  dreary  as 
their  farce  is,  and  tautological  as  their 
twaddle,  you  may  be  sure  it  amuses 
them,  and  that  they  are  happy 
enough  without  us.  Happy  ?  Js 
there  any  happiness  like  it,  pray  ? 
Was  it  not  rapture  to  watch  the  mes- 
senger, to  seize  the  note,  and  fee  the 
bearer  ?  —  to  retire  out  of  sight  of 
all  prying  eyes  and  read  :  —  "  Dear- 
est !  Mamma's  cold  is  better  this 
morning.  The  Joneses  came  to  tea, 
and  Julia  sang.  I  did  not  enjoy  it, 
as  my  dear  was  at  his  horrid  dinner, 
where  I  hope  he  amused  himself. 
Send  me  a  word  by  Buttles,  who 
brings  this,  if  only  to  say  you  are 
your  Louisa's  own,  own,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
That  used  to  be  the  kind  of  thing. 
In  such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence 
used  to  whisper  its  little  vows.  So 
she  used  to  smile ;  so  she  used  to 
warble ;  so  she  used  to  prattle. 
Youn_g  people,  at  present  engaged  in 
tlie  ))retty  sport,  be  assured  your  mid- 
dle-aged parents  have  played  the 
game,  and  remember  the  rules  of  it. 
Yes,  under  jjapa's  bow-window  of  a 
waistcoat  is  a  heart  which  took  very 
violent  exercise  when  that  waist  w.as 
•lim.     Now  he  sits  tranquilly  in  his 


tent,  and  watches  the  lads  going  in 
for  their  innings.  Why,  look  at 
grandmamma  in  her  spectacles  read- 
ing that  sermon.  In  htr  old  heart 
there  is  a  corner  as  romantic  still  as 
when  she  used  to  read  the  "  Wild 
Irish  Girl  "  or  the  "  Scottish  Chiefs  " 
in  the  days  of  her  misshood.  And  as 
for  your  grandfather,  my  dears,  to 
see  him  now  you  would  little  suppose 
that  that  calm,  polished,  dear  old 
gentleman  \\a&  once  as  wild  —  as 
wild  as  Orson.  .  .  .  Under  my  win- 
dows, as  I  write,  there  passes  an 
itinerant  flower-merchant.  He  has 
his  roses  and  geraniums  on  a  cart 
drawn  by  a  quadruped  —  a  little 
long-eared  quadruped,  which  lifts  up 
its  voice,  and  sings  after  its  manner. 
When  I  was  young,  donkeys  used  to 
bray  precisely  in  the  same  way ;  and 
others  will  heehaw  so,  when  we  are 
silent  and  our  ears  hear  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

DRUM     IST's     so    AVOHL    MIR    I.V    DER 

WELT. 

Our  new  friends  lived  for  a  while 
contentedly  enough  at  Boulogne,where 
they  found  comrades  and  acquaint- 
ances gathered  together  from  those 
many  regions  which  they  had  visited 
in  the  course  of  their  military  career. 
Mrs.  Baynes,  out  of  the  field,  was  the 
commanding  officer  over  the  General. 
She  ordered  his  clothes  for  him,  tied 
his  neckcloth  into  a  neat  bow,  and,  on 
tea-party  evenings,  pinned  his  brooch 
into  his  shirt-frill.  She  gave  him  to 
understand  when  he  had  had  enough 
to  eat  or  drink  at  dinner,  and  ex- 
plained, with  great  frankness,  how 
this  or  that  dish  did  not  agree  with 
him.  If  he  was  disposed  to  exceed, 
she  would  call  out,  in  a  loud  voice ; 
"  Kememlier,  General,  what  you  took 
this  morning  !  ".  Knowing  his  con- 
stitution, as  she  said,  she  knew  the 
remedies  which  were  necessary  for 
her  husband,  and  administered  them 
to  him  with  great  liberality.     Kesist- 


208 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


ance  was  impossible,  as  the  veteran 
officer  acknowledged.  "  The  boys 
have  fought  about  the  medicine  since 
we  came  home,"  he  confessed,  "  but 
she  has  me  under  her  thumb,  by 
George.  She  really  is  a  magnificent 
physician,  now.  She  has  got  some 
invaluable  prescriptions,  and  in  India 
she  used  to  doctor  the  whole  station." 
She  would  have  Uiken  the  present 
writer's  little  household  under  her 
c;irc,  and  proposed  several  remedies  for 
my  children,  until  their  alarmed  moth- 
er was  obliged  to  keep  them  out  of  her 
ii'f^ht.  I  am  not  saying  this  was  an 
agreeable  woman.  Her  voice  was 
loud  and  harsh.  The  anecdotes 
which  she  was  forever  narrating  relat-  j 
cJ  to  military  personages  in  foreign 
countries  with  whom  I  was  unac- 
quainted, and  whose  history  failed  to  ! 
interest  me.  She  took  her  wine  with 
much  spirit  whilst  engaged  in  this  i 
prattle.  I  have  heard  talk  not  less  j 
foolish  in  much  finer  compan)',  and 
known  people  delighted  to  listen  to  ; 
anecdotes  of  the  duchess  and  the  mar-  i 
chioness  who  would  yawn  over  the 
history  of  Captain  Jones's  quarrels 
with  his  lady,  or  Mrs.  Major  Wolfe's 
monstrous  flirtations  with  young  En- 
sign Kyd.  My  wife,  with  the  mis-  ] 
chievousness  of  her  sex,  would  mimic 
the  Bayues's  conversation  very  drolly, 
but  always  insisted  that  she  was  not 
more  really  vulgar  than  many  much 
greater  persons. 

For  all  this,  Mrs.  General  Bayncs 
did  not  liesitate  to  declare  that  we 
were  "  stuck-up  "  people  ;  and  from 
tlie  very  first  setting  eyes  on  us  she 
declared  that  she  viewed  us  with  a  : 
constant  darkling  suspicion.  Mrs.  P. 
was  a  harmless,  washed-out  creature, 
with  nothing  in  her.  As  for  that 
high  and  mighty  Mr.  P.  and  his  airs, 
she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether 
the  wife  of  a  British  general  officer 
who  had  seen  service  in  everi/  /mrt  of 
the  ijlohe,  and  met  the  most  distinrfuished 
governors,  generals,  and  their  latlies, 
several  of  whom  icere  nMemen,  —  she 
would  be  glad  to  know  whether  such 
people  were  not  good  enough  for,  &c., 


&c.  Who  has  not  met  with  these  dif- 
ficulties in  life,  and  who  can  escape 
them?  "Hang  it,  sir,"  Phil  would 
say,  twirling  the  red  mustache,  "  I 
like  to  be  hated  by  some  fellows " ; 
and  it  must  be  owned  that  Mr.  Philip 
got  what  he  liked.  I  suppose  Mr. 
Philip's  friend  and  biographer  had 
something  of  the  same  feeling.  At 
any  rate,  in  regard  to  this  lady  the 
hypocrisy  of  politeness  was  very  hard 
to  keep  up ;  wanting  us  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  she  covered  the  dagger 
with  which  she  would  have  stabbed 
us  :  but  we  knew  it  was  there  clenched 
in  her  skinny  hand  in  her  meagre 
]K)cket.  She  would  pay  us  the  most 
fulsome  compliments  with  anger 
raging  out  of  her  eyes,  —  a  little  hate- 
bearing  woman,  envious,  malicious, 
but  loving  her  cubs,  and  nursing 
them,  and  clutching  them  in  her  lean 
arms  with  a  jealous  strain.  It  was 
"  Good  by,  darling  !  I  shall  leave  you 
here  with  your  friends.  O,  how  kind 
you  are  to  her,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ! 
How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  and  Mr. 
P.,  I  am  sure";  and  she  looked  as 
if  she  could"  poison  both  of  us,  as  she 
went  away,  courtesying  and  darting 
dreary  parting  smiles. 

This  lady  had  an  intimate  friend 
and  companion  in  arms,  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the  — th  Bengal 
Cavalry,  who  was  now  in  Europe 
with  Bunch  and  their  children,  who 
were  residinir  at  Paris  for  the  young 
folks'  education.  At  first,  as  we  have 
heard,  Mrs.  Baynes's  predilections 
had  been  all  for  Tours,  where  her  sis- 
ter was  living,  and  where  lodgings 
were  cheap  and  food  reasonable  in 
proportion.  But  Bunch  happening 
to  pass  through  Boulogne  on  his  way 
to  his  wife  at  Paris,  and  meeting  his 
old  comrade,  gave  General  Baynes 
such  an  account  of  the  cheapness  and 
pleasures  of  the  French  capital,  as  to 
induce  the  General  to  think  of  bend- 
ing his  steps  thither.  Mrs.  Baynes 
would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan.  She 
was  all  for  her  dear  sister  and  Tours ; 
but  when,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, Colonel  Bunch  described  a  ball 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


209 


at  the  Tuilcries,  where  he  and  Mrs. 
B.  had  been  received  with  the  most 
flattering  politeness  by  the  royal  fam- 
ily, it  was  remarked  that  ^Irs. 
Baynes's  mind  underwent  a  chanj^e. 
When  Bunch  went  on  to  aver  that 
the  balls  at  Government  House  at 
Calcutta  were  nothing  compared  to 
tliose  at  the  Tuileries  or  the  Prefecture 
of  the  Seine ;  that  the  English  were 
invited  and  respected  everywhere  ; 
tliat  the  ambassador  was  most  hos- 
pitable ;  that  the  clergymen  were  ad- 
mirable ;  and  that  at  their  boarding- 
lujuse,  kept  by  Madame  la  Gene'rale 
Baronne  de  Smolensk,  at  the  "  Petit 
Chateau  d'Espagne,"  Avenue  de 
Valmy,  Champs  Elysees,  they  liad 
balls  twice  a  month,  the  most  com- 
fortable apartments,  the  most  choice 
society,  and  every  comfort  and  luxury 
at  so  many  francs  per  month,  with  an 
allowance  for  children,  —  I  say  Mrs. 
Baynes  was  very  greatly  moved.  "  It 
is  not,"  she  said,  "in  consequence  of 
the  balls  at  the  Ambassador's  or  the 
Tuileries,  for  I  am  an  old  woman ; 
and  in  spite  of  what  you  say,  Colonel, 
i  can't  fancy,  after  Government 
House,  anything  more  magnificent  in 
any  French  palace.  It  is  not  for  me, 
goodness  knows,  I  speak  :  but  the 
children  should  have  education,  and 
my  Charlotte  an  entree  into  the 
world  ;  and  what  you  say  of  the  in- 
valuable  clergyman,    Mr.   X ,    I 

have  been  thinking  of  it  all  night ;  but 
above  all,  above  all,  of  the  chances 
of  education  for  my  darlings.  Noth- 
ing should  give  way  to  that,  —  noth- 
ing !  "  On  this  a  long  and  delightful 
conversation  and  calculation  took 
place.  Bunch  produced  his  bills  at 
the  Baroness  de  Smolensk's.  The 
two  gentlemen  jotted  up  accounts, 
and  made  calculations  all  through  the 
evening.  It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs. 
Baynes  to  force  the  figures  into  such  a 
shape  as  to  make  them  accord  with  the 
General's  income  ;  but,  driven  away 
by  one  calculation  after  another,  she  re- 
turned again  and  again  to  the  charge, 
until  she  overcame  the  stubborn  arith- 
metical difficulties,  and  the  pounds, 


shillings,  and  pence  lay  prostrate  be- 
fore her.  They  could  save  upon  this 
point ;  they  could  screw  upon  that ; 
they  must  make  a  sacrifice  to  educate 
the  children.  "  Sarah  Bunch  and 
her  girls  go  to  Court,  indeed  !  Why 
should  n't  mine  go  ?  "  she  asked.  i)n 
which  her  General  said,  "  By  George, 
Eliza,  that  's  the  point  you  are  think- 
ing of."  On  which  Eliza  said,  "  No," 
and  repeated  "No  "  a  score  of  times, 
growing  more  angry  as  she  uttered 
each  denial.  And  she  declared  before 
Heaven  she  did  not  want  to  ge  to  any 
Court.  Had  she  not  refused  to  be 
presented  at  liome,  though  Mrs, 
Colonel  Flack  went,  because  she  did 
not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked  ex- 
pense of  a  train  ?  And  it  was  base 
of  the  General,  base  and  mean  of  him 
to  say  so.  And  there  whs  a  fine 
scene,  as  I  am  given  to  understand ; 
not  that  I  was  present  at  this  family 
fight  :  but  my  informant  was  Mr. 
Firmin  ;  and  Mr.  Firmin  had  his  in- 
formation from  a  little  person  who, 
about  tliis  time,  had  got  to  prattle 
out  all  the  secrets  of  her  young  heart 
to  him  ;  wlio  would  have  jumped  off 
the  pier-head  with  her  hand  in  liis  if 
he  had  said  "  Come,"  without  his 
hand  if  he  had  said  "  Go  "  :  a  little 
person  whose  whole  life  had  been 
changed,  —  changed  for  a  mouth  past, 
changed  in  one  minute,  that  minute 
when  slie  saAv  Philip's  fiery  whiskers 
and  heard  his  great  big  voice  saluting 
her  father  amongst  the  conmiission- 
ers  on  the  quai  before  the  custom- 
house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  farther  off  than  Paris 
from  —  from  a  city  where  a  young 
gentleman  lived  in  whom  Miss  Char- 
lotte Baynes  felt  an  interest ;  hence,  I 
suppose,  arose  her  delight  that  her 
parents  had  determined  upon  taking 
up  their  residence  in  the  larger  and 
nearer  city.  Besides,  she  owned,  in 
the  course  of  her  artless  confidences 
to  my  wife,  that,  when  together, 
mamma  smd  Aunt  MacWhirter  quar- 
relled unceasingly ;  and  had  once 
caused  the  old  boys,  the  Major  and 


210 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  General,  to  call  each  other  out. 
She  preferred,  then,  to  live  away 
from  Aunt  Mac.  She  had  never  had 
such  a  friend  as  Laura,  never.  She 
had  never  been  so  happy  as  at  Bou- 
logne, never.  She  should  always 
love  everybody  in  our  house,  that  she 
should,  forever  and  ever,  —  and  so 
forth,  and  so  forth.  The  ladies 
meet;  cling  together;  osculations  are 
carried  round  the  whole  family  circle, 
from  our  wondering  eldest  boy,  who 
cries,  "  I  say,  hullo !  what  are  ]^ou 
kissing  me  so  about  ? "  to  darling 
baby,  cro^ving  and  sputtering  uncon- 
scious in  the  rapturous  young  girl's 
embraces.  I  tell  you,  these  two 
women  were  making  fools  of  them- 
selves, and  they  were  burning  with 
enthusiasm  for  the  "  preserver  "  of  the 
Baynes  family,  as  they  called  that 
big  fellow  yonder,  whose  biographer 
I  have  aspired  to  be.  The  laz}' 
rogue  lay  basking  in  the  glorious 
warmth  and  sunshine  of  early  love. 
He  would  stretch  his  big  limbs  out  in 
our  garden ;  pour  out  his  feelings 
with  endless  volubility ;  call  upon 
hominum  divuinque  voluptas,  alma  Venus  ; 
vow  that  he  had  never  lived  or  been 
happy  until  now ;  declare  that  he 
laughed  poverty  to  scorn  and  all  her 
ills  ;  and  fume  against  his  masters  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  because  they 
declined  to  insert  certain  love  verses 
which  Mr.  Philip  now  composed  al- 
most every  day.  Poor  little  Char- 
lotte !  And  didst  thou  receive  those 
treasures  of  song ;  and  wonder  over 
them,  not  perhaps  comprehending  j 
them  altogether ;  and  lock  them  up 
in  thy  heart's  inmost  casket  as  well 
as  in  thy  little  desk ;  and  take  them 
out  in  quiet  hours,  and  kiss  them,  i 
and  bless  Heaven  for  giving  thee  such  | 
jewels  ?  I  dare  say.  I  can  fancy  i 
all  this,  without  seeing  it.  I  can 
read  the  little  letters  in  the  little  desk, 
without  picking  lock  or  breaking  seal. 
Poor  little  letters !  Sometimes  they 
are  not  spelt  right,  quite  ;  but  I  don  t 
know  that  the  style  is  worse  for  that, 
poor  little  letters !  You  are  flung  to 
the  winds    sometimes   and  forgotten 


with  all  your  sweet  secrets  and  loving 
artless  confessions;  but  not  always, 
—  no,  not  always.  As  for  Philip, 
who  was  the  most  careless  creature 
alive,  and  left  all  his  clothes  and 
haberdashery  sprawling  on  his  bed- 
room floor,  he  had  at  this  time  a 
breast-pocket  stuffed  out  with  papers 
which  crackled  in  the  most  ridiculous 
way.  He  was  always  looking  down 
at  this  precious  pocket,  and  putting 
one  of  his  great  hands  over  it  as 
though  he  would  guard  it.  The 
pocket  did  not  contain  bank-notes, 
you  may  be  sure  of  that.  It  con- 
tained docirments  stating  that  mam- 
ma's cold  is  better ;  the  Joneses  came 
to  tea,  and  Julia  sang,  &c.  Ah, 
friend,  however  old  you  are  now, 
however  cold  you  are  now,  however 
tough,  I  hope  you  too  remember  how 
Julia  sang,  and  the  Joneses  came  to 
tea. 

Mr.  Philip  stayed  on  week  after 
week,  declaring  to  my  wife  that  she 
was  a  perfect  angel  for  keeping  him 
so  long.  Bunch  wrote  from  his 
boarding-house  more  and  more  en- 
thusiastic reports  about  the  comforts 
of  the  establishment.  For  his  sake, 
Madame  la  Baronnc  de  Smolensk 
would  make  unheard-of  sacrifices,  in 
order  to  accommodate  the  General 
and  his  distinguished  party.  The 
balls  were  going  to  be  perfectly 
splendid  that  winter.  There  were 
several  old  Indians  living  near;  in 
fact  they  could  form  a  regular  little 
club.  It  was  agreed  that  Baynes 
should  go  and  reconnoitre  the  ground. 
He  did  go.  Madame  de  Smolensk,  a 
most  elegant  woman,  had  a  magnifi- 
cent dinner  for  him,  —  quite  splendid, 
I  give  you  my  word,  but  only  what 
they  have  every  day.  Soup,  of 
course,  my  love ;  fish,  capital  wine, 
and,  I  should  say,  some  five  or  six 
and  thirty  made  dishes.  The  Gen- 
eral was  quite  enraptured.  Bunch 
had  put  his  boys  to  a  famous  school, 
where  they  might  "  whop "  the 
French  boys,  and  learn  all  the  mod- 
ern languages.  The  little  ones  would 
dine  early  ;  the  baroness  would  tako 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


211 


the  whole  family  at  an  astonishingly 
cheap  rate.  In  a  word,  the  Baynes's 
column  got  the  route  for  Paris  short- 
ly before  our  family-party  was  cross- 
ing the  seas  to  return  to  London  fogs 
and  duty. 

You  have,  no  doubt,  remarked  how, 
under  certain  tender  circumstances, 
women  will  help  one  another.  They 
help  where  they  ought  not  to  help. 
When  Mr.  Darby  ought  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  Miss  Joan,  and  the  best 
thing  that  could  happen  for  both 
would  be  a  lettre  de  cachet  to  whip  otf 
Mons.  Darby  to  the  Bastile  for  five 
years,  and  an  order  from  her  parents 
to  lock  up  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  in  a 
convent,  some  aunt,  some  relative, 
some  pitying  female  friend  is  sure  to 
be  found,  who  will  give  the  pair  a 
chance  of  meeting,  and  turn  her  head 
away  whilst  those  unhappy  lovers  are 
warbling  endless  good-bys  close  up 
to  each  other's  ears.  My  wife,  1  have 
said,  chose  to  feel  this  absurd  sympa- 
thy for  the  young  people  about  whom 
we  have  been  just  talking.  As  the 
days  for  Charlotte's  departure  drew 
near,  this  wretched,  misguiding  ma- 
tron would  take  the  girl  out  walk- 
ing into  I  know  not  what  unfrequent- 
ed by-lanes,  quiet  streets,  rampart- 
nooks,  and  the  like ;  and  la !  by  the 
most  singular  coincidence,  Mr.  Phil- 
ip's hulking  boots  would  assuredly 
come  tramping  after  the  women's  lit- 
tle feet.  What  will  you  say,  when  I 
tell  you,  that  I  myself,  the  father  of 
the  family,  the  renter  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned house,  Rue  Roucoule,  Haute 
Ville,  Boulogne-sur-Mer,  —  as  I  am 
going  into  my  own  study,  —  am  met 
at  the  threshold  by  Helen,  my  eldest 
daughter,  who  puts  her  little  arms  be- 
fore the  glass  door  at  which  I  was 
about  to  enter,  and  says,  "  You  must 
not  go  in  there,  papa !  Mamma  says 
we  none  of  us  are  to  go  in  there." 

"  And  why,  pray  1"  \  ask. 

"  Because  Uncle  Philip  and  Char- 
lotte are  talking  secrets  there ;  and 
nobody  is  to  disturb  them  —  nd>odij  !  " 

Upon  my  word,  was  n't  this  too 
monstrous  1    Am  I  Sir  Pandarus  of 


Troy  become  ?  Am  I  going  to  allow 
a  penniless  young  man  to  steal  away 
the  heart  of  a  young  girl  who  has  not 
twopence  halfpenny  to  her  fortune  ? 
Shall   I,   I  say,   lend   myself  to  this 

,  most  unjustifiable  intrigue? 

"  Sir,"  says  my  wife  (we  happened 
to  have  been  bred  up  from  childhood 
together,  and  I  own  to  have  had  one 
or  two  foolish  initiatory  flirtations  be- 
fore I  settled  down  to  matrimonial 
fidelity),  —  "Sir,"  says  she,  "when 
you  were  so  wild  —  so  spooney,  I 
think  is   your  elegant  word  —  about 

j  Blanche,  and  used  to  put  letters  into 
a  hollow  tree  for  her  at  home,  I  used 

{  to  see  the  letters,  and  I  never  dis- 
turbed them.  These  two  people  have 
much  warmer  hearts,  and  are  a  great 
deal  fonder  of  each  other,  than  you 
and  Blanche  used  to  be.  I  should 
not  like  to  separate  Charlotte  from 
Philip  now.  It  is  too  late,  sir.  She 
can  never  like  anybody  else  as  she 
likes  him.  If  she  lives  to  be  a  hun- 
dred, she  will  never  forget  him.    Why 

,  should  not  die  poor  thing  be  happy  a 

I  little,  while  she  may  1 " 

I  An  old  house,  with  a  green  old 
courtyard  and  an  ancient  mossy  wall, 
through  breaks  of  which  I  can  see  the 
roofs  and  gables  of  the  quaint  old 
town,  the  city  below,  the  shining  sea, 
and  the  white  English  cWffs  beyond ; 
a  green  old  courtyard,  and  a  tall  old 
stone  house  rising  up  in  it,  grown 
over  with  many  a  creeper  on  which 
the  sun  casts  flickering  shadows ;  and 
under  the  shadows,  and  through  the 
glass  of  a  tall  gray  window,  I  can 
just  peep  into  a  brown  twilight  par- 
lor, and  there  I  see  two  hazy  figures 
by  a  table.  One  slim,  figure  has 
brown  hair,  and  one  has  flame-colored 
whiskers.  Look,  a  ray  of  sunshine 
has  just  peered  into  the  room,  and  is 
lighting  the  whiskers  up  ! 

"Poor  little  thing,"  whispers  my 
wife,  very  gently.  "  They  arc  going 
away  to-morrow.  Let  them  have 
their  talk  out.  She  is  crj-ing  her  lit- 
tle eyes  out,  I  am  sure.  Poor  little 
Charlotte ! " 
Whilst  my  wife  was  pitying  Mis« 


212  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 

Charlotte  in  this  pathetic  way,  and  |  heavens,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling 
was  going,  I  dare  say,  to  have  re-  j  by  myriads. 

course  to  her  ovra  pocket-handker- 1  "  Good  by,  dear  Charlotte  ,•  happi- 
chief,  as  I  live  there  came  a  burst  of ;  ness  go  with  you !  "  I  seize  her  hand, 
laughter  from  the  darkling  chamber  I  feel  a  paternal  desire  to  kiss  her  fair 
where  the  two  lovers  were  billing  and  round  face.  Her  sweetness,  her  hap- 
cooing.  First  came  Mr.  Philip's  piness,  her  artless  good-humor,  and 
great  boom  (such  a  roar  —  such  a  gentleness  has  endeared  her  to  us  all. 
haw-haw,  or  hee-haw,  I  never  heard  As  for  me,  I  love  her  with  a  fatherly 
any  other  ^w-legged  animal  perform).  |  affection.  "  Stay,  my  dear  !  "  I  cry, 
Then  follows  Miss  Charlotte's  tink-  with  a  happy  gallantry,  "  I  '11  go 
ling  peal ;  and  presently  that  young  <  home  with  you  to  the  Tintilleries." 
person  cOmes  out  into  the  garden,  j  You  should  have  seen  the  fair 
with  her  round  face  not  bedewed  with  '  round  face  then  !  Such  a  piteous  ex- 
tears  at  all,  but  perfectly  rosy,  fresh,  pression  came  over  it !  She  looked 
dimpled,  and  good-humored.  Char-  at  my  wife ;  and  as  for  that  Mrs. 
lotto  gives  me  a  little  courtesy,  and  my  |  Laura  she  pulled  the  tail  of  my  coat, 
wife  a  hand  and  a  kind  glance.  They  1  "  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  1 " 
retreat  through  the  open  casement,  I  I  ask. 

twining  round  each  other,  as  the  vine  |  "  Don't  go  out  on  such  a  dreadful 
does  round  the  window  ;  though  night.  You  '11  catch  cold ! "  says 
which  is  the   vine  and  which  is  the    Laura. 

window  in  this  simile,  I  pretend  not  I  "  Cold,  my  love!  "  I  say.  "Why, 
to  say,  —  I  can't  see  through  either  of  it 's  as  fine  a  night  as  ever  —  " 
them,  that  is  the  truth.  They  pass  j  "Oh!  you — you  stoopid !  "  says 
through  the  parlor,  and  into  the  Laura,  and  begins  to  laugh.  And 
street  beyond,  doubtless :  and  as  for  j  there  goes  Miss  Charlotte  tripping 
Mr.  Philip,  I  presently  see  his  head  away  from  us  without  a  word  more, 
popped  out  of  his  window  in  the  up-  i  Philip  came  in  about  half  an  hour 
per  floor  with  his  great  pipe  in  his  afterwards.  And  do  you  know  I 
mouth.  He  can't  "work"  without  very  strongly  suspect  that  he  had 
his  pipe,  he  says ;  and  my  wife  be- !  been  waiting  round  the  corner.  Few 
lieves  him.     Work  indeed !  1  things   escape  me,  you   see,   when  I 

Miss  Charlotte  paid  us  another  little  |  have  a  mind  to  be  observant.  And, 
visit  that  evening,  when  we  happened  certainly,  if  I  had  thought  of  that 
to  be  alone.     The  children  were  gone    possibility  and  that  I  might  be  spoil- 


to  bed.  The  darlings  !  Charlotte 
must  go  up  and  kiss  them.  Mr. 
Philip  Firniin  was  out.  She  did  not 
seem  to  miss  him  in  the  least,  nor  did 


ing  sport,  I  should  not  have  proposed 
to  Miss  Charlotte  to  walk  home  with 
her. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  next 


she  make  a  single  inquiry  for  him.  |  morning  my  wife  arose,  and  spent,  in 
Wo  had  been  so  good  to  her,  —  so  j  my  opinioii,  a  great  deal  of  nnprofita- 
kind.  How  should  she  ever  forget  |  ble  time,  bread,  butter,  cold  beef, 
our  grcit  kindness!  She  had  been  j  mustard  and  salt,  in  compiling  a  heap 
so  happy,  —  oh  !  so  happy  !  She  had  '  of  sandwiches,  which  were  tied  up  in 
never  been  so  happy  before.  She  a  copy  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
would  write  often  and  often,  and  j  That  persistence  in  making  sand- 
Laura  would  write  constantly, —  wiches,  in  providing  cakes  and  other 
would  n't  she?  "    "  Yes,  dear  child  !"  1  refreshments  for  a  journey,  is  a  strange 


says  my  wife.  And  now  a  little 
more  kissing,  <ind  it  is  time  to  go 
home  to   the    Tintilleries.     What   a 


infatuation  in  women ;  as  if  there 
was  not  always  enough  to  eat  to  be 
had   at  road  inns   and   railway  sta- 


lovely  night !     Indeed  the  moon  was  j  tions !     What  a  good  dinner  we  used 
blazing  in  full  round  in  the  purple  I  to  have  at  Montreuil  in  the  old  days, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


213 


before  railways  were,  and  when  the 
dilifj^encc  spent  four  or  six  and  twen- 
ty cheerful  hours  on  its  way  to  Paris  ! 
I  think  the  finest  dishes  are  not  to  be 
compared  to  that  well-remenibered 
fricandcau  of  youth,  nor  do  wines  of 
the  most  dainty  vintage  surpass  the 
rough,  honest,  blue  ordinaire  which 
was  served  at  the  plenteous  inn-table. 
I  took  our  bale  of  sandwiches  down  to 
the  office  of  the  Messageries,  whence 
our  friends  were  to  start.  We  saw 
six  of  the  Baynes  family  packed  into 
the  interior  of  the  diligence  ;  and  the 
boys  climb  cheerily  into  the  rotonde. 
Charlotte's  pretty  lips  and  hands 
wafted  kisses  to  us  from  her  corner. 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  commanded  tlie 
column,  pushed  the  little  ones  into 
their  places  in  the  ark,  ordered  the 
General  and  young  ones  hither  and 
thither  with  her  parasol,  declined  to 
give  the  grumbling  porters  any  but 
the  smallest  gratuity,  and  talked  a 
shrieking  jargon  of  French  and  Hin- 
dostanee  to  the  people  assembled 
round  the  carriage.  My  wife  has 
that  command  over  me  that  she  act- 
ually made  me  demean  myself  so  far 
as  to  deliver  the  sandwich  parcel  to 
one  of  the  Baynes  boys.  I  said, 
"  Take  this,"  and  the  poor  wretch 
held  out  his  hand  eagerly,  evidently 
expecting  that  I  was  about  to  tip  him 
with  a  tive-franc  piece  or  some  such 
coin.  Fouette,  cocker !  The  horses 
squeal.  The  huge  machine  jingles 
over  the  road,  and  rattles  down  the 
street.  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte, 
with  your  sweet  face  and  sweet  voice 
and  kind  eyes  !  But  why,  pray,  is 
Mr.  Piiilip  Firmin  not  here  to  say 
farewell  too  ? 

Before  the  diligence  got  under  way, 
the  Baynes  boys  had  fought,  and 
quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  mount  on 
the  imperial  or  cabriolet  of  the  car- 
riage, where  there  was  only  one  pas- 
senger as  yet.  But  the  conductor 
called  the  lads  off,  saying  that  the  re- 
maining ])lace  was  engaged  by  a  gen- 
tleman who  they  were  to  take  up  on 
the  road.  And  who  should  this  turn 
out  to  be  ?    Just  outside  the  town  a 


man  springs  up  to  the  imperial  ;  his 
h'.iiht  luggage,  it  appears,  was  on  the 
cuacli  already,  and  that  luggage  be- 
longed to  Philip  Firmin.  Ah,  mon- 
sieur !  and  that  was  the  reason,  was 
it,  whj'  they  were  so  merry  yesterday 

—  the  parting  day  ?  Because  they 
were  not  going  to  part  just  then.  Be- 
cause, when  the  time  of  execution 
drew  near  they  had  managed  to  smug- 
gle a  little  reprieve  !  Upon  my  con- 
science, I  never  heard  of  such  impru- 
dence in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  ! 
Why,  it  is  starvation,  —  certain  mis- 
ery to  one  and  the  other.  "  I  don't 
like  to  meddle  in  other  people's  af- 
fairs," I  say  to  my  wife  ;  "  but  I  have 
no  patience  with  such  folly,  or  with 
myself  for  not  speaking  to  General 
Baynes  on  the  suGject.  I  shall  write 
to  the  General." 

"  My  dear,  the  General  knows  all 
about  it,"  says  Charlotte's,  Philip's 
(in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious 
friend.  "  We  have  talked  about  it, 
and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the  General 
makes  light  of  it.  '  Young  folks 
will  be  young  folks,'  he  says  ;  '  and, 
by  George  !   ma'am,  when  I  married 

—  I  should  say,  when  Mrs.  B.  order- 
ed me  to  marry  her — she  had  noth- 
ing, and  I  but  my  captain's  jsay. 
People  get  on,  somehow.  Better  for 
a  yonng  man  to  marry,  and  keep  out 
of  idleness  and  mischief;  and  I  prem- 
ise you,  the  chap  who  marries  my 
girl  gets  a  treasure.  I  like  the  boy 
for  the  sake  of  my  old  friend  I'hil 
Ringwood.  I  don't  see  tliat  the 
fellows  with  the  rich  wives  are  much 
the  happier,  or  that  men  should  wait 
to  marry  until  they  are  gouty  old 
rakes.'  "  And,  it  appears,  the  Gen- 
eral instanced  several  oflicers  of  his 
own  acquaintance ;  some  of  whom 
had' married  when  they  were  young 
and  poor ;  some  who  had  married 
when  they  were  old  and  sulky  ;  some 
wiio  liad  never  married  at  all.  And 
he  mentioned  his  comrade,  my  own 
uncle,  the  late  Major  Pcndcnnis, 
whom  he  called  a  selfish  old  creature, 
and  hinted  that  the  Major  had  jilted 
some  lady   in   early  life,   whom   h« 


BU 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


would   have    done    much    better   to 
marry. 

And  so  Philip  is  actually  gone 
after  his  charmer,  and  is  pursuing 
her  sumina  diliyentia  ?  The  Baynes 
family  has  allowed  this  penniless 
young  law  student  to  make  love  to 
their  daughter,  or  accompany  them 
to  Paris,  to  appear  as  the  almost 
recognized  son  of  the  house.  "  Other 
people,  when  they  were  young,  wanted 
t(  make  imprudent  marriages,"  says 
my  wife  (as  if  that  wretched  tu  qitoque 
were  any  answer  to  ray  remark!) 
"  This  penniless  law  student  might 
have  a  good  sura  of  money  if  he 
chose  to  press  the  Baynes  f  imily  to 

Eay  him  what,  after  all,  they  owe 
im."  And  so  poor  little  Charlotte 
was  to  be  her  father's  ransom !  To 
be  sure,  little  Charlotte  did  not  object 
to  offer  herself  up  in  payment  of  her 
papa's  debt !  And  though  I  objected 
as  a  moral  man  and  a  prudent  man, 
and  a  father  of  a  family,  I  could  not 
be  very  seriously  angry.  I  am  secret- 
ly of  the  disposition  of  the  time- 
honored  })ere  ae  fainiUe  in  the  come- 
dies, the  irascible  old  gentleman  in 
the  crop  wig  and  George-the-Second 
coat,  who  is  always  menacing  "  Tom 
the  young  dog "  with  his  ca'ie. 
When  the  deed  is  done,  and  Miranda 
(the  little  sly-boots !)  falls  before  ray 
squaretoes  and  slioe-buckles,  and 
Tom,  the  young  dog,  kneels  before 
me  in  his  white  ducks,  and  they  cry 
out  in  a  pretty  chorus,  "  Forgive  us, 
grandpapa  !  "  I  say,  "  Well,  you 
rogue,  boys  will  be  boys.  Take  her, 
sirrah !  Be  happy  with  her ;  and, 
hark  ye !  in  this  pocket-book  you  will  I 
find  ten  thousand,"  &c.,  &c.  You  all  ' 
know  the  story :  I  cannot  help  liking  i 
it,  however  old  it  may  be.  In  love,  I 
somehow,  one  is  pleased  that  young  | 
people  should  dare  a  little.  Was  i 
not  Bessy  Eldon  famous  as  an 
economist,  and  Lord  Eldon  celebrated 
for  wis'lom  and  caution  ?  and  did  not 
John  Scott  marry  Elizabeth  Surtees 
when  they  had  scarcely  twopence  a 
year  between  thera "?  "  Of  course,  my 
dear,"  I  say  to  the  partner  of   my 


existence,  "now  this  madcap  fellow 
is  utterly  ruined,  now  is  the  very 
time  he  ought  to  marry.  The  ac- 
cepted doctrine  is  that  a  man  should 
spend  his  own  fortune,  then  his  wife's 
fortune,  and  then  he  may  begin  to 
get  on  at  the  bar.  Philip  has  a 
hundred  pounds,  let  us  say ;  Charlotte 
has  nothing ;  so  that  in  about  six 
weeks  we  may  look  to  hear  of  Philip 
being  in  successful  practice —  " 

"  Successful  nonsense !  "  cries  the 
lady.  "  Don't  go  on  like  a  cold- 
blooded calculating  machine!  You 
don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you  say, 
and  a  more  imprudent  person  never 
lived  than  you  yourself  were  as  a 
young  man."  'Phis  was  departing 
from  the  question,  which  women  will 
do.  "  Nonsense  !  "  again  says  my 
romantic  being  of  a  partner-of-exist- 
ence.  "  Don't  tell  me,  sir.  They 
WILL  be  provided  for !  Are  we  to  be 
forever  taking  care  of  the  morrow, 
and  not  trusting  that  we  shall  be 
cared  for?  You  may  call  your  way 
of  thinking  prudence.  I  call  it  sinful 
worldliness,  sir."  When  my  life-part- 
ner speaks  in  a  certain  strain,  I  know 
that  reraonstrance  is  useless,  and 
argument  unavailing,  and  I  generally 
resort  to  cowardly  subterfuges,  and 
sneak  out  of  the  conversation  by  a 
pun,  a  side  joke,  or  some  other 
flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case, 
though  I  argue  against  mj'  wife,  my 
sympathy  is  on  her  side.  I  know  Mr. 
Philip  is  imprudent  and  headstrong, 
but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed,  and 
be  happy.  I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace, 
but  I  wish  him  well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Lafitte 
and  Caillard  is  clearing  out  of  Bou- 
logne town,  the  conductor  causes  the 
carriage  to  stop,  and  a  young  fellow 
has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a 
twinkling ;  and  the  postilion  says, 
"  Hi !  "  to  his  horses,  and  away  those 
squealing  grays  go  cLittering.  And 
a  young  lady,  happening  to  look  out 
of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  interieur, 
has  perfectly  recognized  the  young 
gentleman  who  leaped  up  to  the  roof 
so  nimbly ;  and   the   two  boys  who 


THE  ADVENTURES   Ot    PHILIP. 


215 


were  in  the  rotonde  would  have  recog- 
nized the  gentleman,  but  that  they 
were  already  eating  the  saiidwich(-'s 
which  my  wife  had  provided.  And 
so  the  diligence  goes  on,  until  it 
reaches  that  hill,  where  the  girls  used 
to  come  and  oft'er  to  sell  you  apples  ; 
and  some  of  the  passengers  descend 
and  walk,  and  the  tall  young  man  on 
the  roof  jumps  down,  and  approaches 
the  party  in  the  interior,  and  a  young 
lady  cries  out  "  La  !  "  and  her  mam- 
ma looks  impenetrably  grave,  and  not 
in  the  least  surprised  ;  and  her  father 
gives  a  wink  of  one  eye,  and  says, 
"  It  's  him,  is  it,  by  George !  "  and 
the  two  boys  coming  out  of  the 
rotonde,  their  mouths  full  of  sand- 
wich, cry  out,  "  Hullo  !  It  's  Mr. 
Firmin." 

"  How  do  you  do,  ladies  ?  "  he  says, 
blushing  as  red  as  an  apple,  and  his 
heart  thumping,  —  but  that  may  be 
from  walking  up  hill.  And  he  puts 
a  hand  towards  the  carriage-window, 
and  a  little  hand  comes  out  and  lights 
on  his.  And  Mrs.  General  Baynes, 
who  is  reading  a  religious  work,  looks 
Tip  and  says,  "  Oh  !  how  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Firmin  ?  "  And  this  is  the  re- 
markable dialogue  that  takes  place. 
It  is  not  very  witty;  hut  Philip's 
tones  send  a  rapture  into  one  young 
heart :  and  when  he  is  absent,  and 
has  climbed  up  to  his  place  in  the 
cabriolet,  the  kick  of  his  boots  on  the 
roof  gives  the  said  young  heart  inex- 
pressible comfort  and  consolation. 
Shine  stars  and  moon.  Shriek  gray 
horses  through  the  calm  night.  Snore 
sweetly,  papa  and  mammsi,  in  your 
corners,  with  your  pocket-handker- 
chiefs tied  round  your  old  fronts  !  I 
suppose,  under  all  the  stars  of  heaven, 
there  is  nobody  more  happy  than  that 
cliild  in  that  carriiige,  —  that  wakeful 
girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation,  — 
who  has  given  her  heart  to  the  keeping 
of  the  champioti  who  is  so  near  her. 
Has  he  not  been  always  theirchampion 
and  preserver"?  Don't  they  owe  to 
his  generosity  everything  in  life  f  One 
of  the  little  sisters  wakes  wildly,  and 
cries  in  the  night,  and  Charlotte  takes 


the  child  into  her  arms  and  soothes 
her.  "  Hush,  dear!  He  's  there, — 
he  's  there,"  she  whispers,  as  she 
t)eiuls  over  the  child.  Nothing  wrong 
can  hap])en  with  him  there,  she  feels. 
If  tlie  roi)l)ors  were  to  spring  out  from 
yonder  dark  pines,  wiiy,  he  would 
jump  down,  and  they  would  all  fly 
before  him  !  The  carriage  roils  on 
through  sleeping  villages,  and  as  the 
old  team  retires  all  in  a  halo  of 
smoke,  and  the  fresh  horses  come 
clattering  up  to  their  pole,  Charlotte 
sees  a  well-known  white  face  in  the 
gleam  of  the  carriage  lanterns. 
Through  the  long  avenues  the  great 
vehicle  rolls  on  its  course.  The  dawn 
peers  over  the  poplars :  the  stars 
quiver  out  of  sight :  the  sun  is  up  in  the 
sky,  and  the  heaven  is  all  in  a  flame. 
The  night  is  over,  —  the  night  of 
nights.  In  all  the  round  world, 
wiiether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine, 
there  were  not  two  people  more  happy 
than  these  had  been. 

A  very  short  time  afterwards,  at 
the  end  of  October,  our  own  little  sea- 
side sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That 
astounding  bill  for  broken  glass, 
chairs,  crockery,  was  paid.  The 
London  steamer  takes  us  all  on  board 
on  a  beautiful,  sunny  autumn  evening, 
and  lands  us  at  the  Custom-house 
Quay  in  the  midst  of  a  deep  dun  fog, 
through  which  our  cabs  have  to  work 
their  way  over  greasy  pavements,  and 
bearing  two  loads  of  silent  and  terrified 
children.  Ah,  that  return,  if  but  after 
a  fortnight's  absence  and  holiday ! 
0,  that  heap  of  letters  lying  in  a 
ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clearly  visible 
in  the  dim  twilight  of  master's  study  ! 
We  cheerfully  breakfast  by  candle- 
light for  the  first  two  days  after  my 
arrival  at  home,  and  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  cutting  a  part  of  my  chin  oft' 
because  it  is  too  dark  to  shave  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to 
laugh  and  be  merry  because  I  have 
met  with  an  accident  which  tempor- 
arily disfigures  me  1  If  the  dun  fog 
makes  her  jocular  she  has  a  very  queer 
sense  of  humor.     She  has  a  letter 


216 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


before  her,  over  which  slie  is  perfectly 
radiant.  When  she  is  especially 
pleased  I  can  see  by  her  face  and  a 
particular  animation  and  affoction- 
ateness  towards  the  rest  of  the  fiimilj'. 
On  this  present  morning  her  fate 
beams  out  of  the  foy:-clouds.  The  room 
is  illuminated  by  it,  and  perhaps  by 
the  two  candles  which  are  placed  one 
on  either  side  of  the  urn.  The  fire 
crackles,  and  flames,  and  spits  most 
cheerfully  ;  and  the  sky  without, 
which  is  of  the  hue  of  brown  paper, 
seems  to  set  off  the  brightness  of  the 
little  interior  scene. 

"  A  letter  from  Charlotte,  papa," 
cries  one  little  girl,  with  an  air  of  con- 
sequence. "  And  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Philip,  papa ! "  cries  another,  "  and 
they  like  Paris  so  much,"  continues 
the  little  reporter. 

"  And  there,  sir,  did  n't  I  tell  you  1 " 
cries  the  lady,  handing  me  over  a 
letter. 

"  Mamma  always  told  you  so," 
echoes  the  child,  with  an  important 
nod  of  the  head  ;  "  and  I  should  n't 
be  surprised  if  he  were  to  be  very  rich, 
should  you,  mamma  ?  "  continues  this 
arithmetician. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  Charlotte's 
letter  into  print  if  I  could,  for  do  you 
know  that  little  person's  grammar 
was  frequently  incorrect ;  there  were 
three  or  four  words  spelt  wrongly ; 
and  the  letter  was  so  scored  and 
vuirkrxl  with  (lashes  under  every  other 
word,  that  it  is  clear  to  rae  her  educa- 
tion had  been  neglected ;  and  as  I 
am  very  fond  of  her,  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  fun  of  her.  And  I  can't  print 
Mr.  Philip's  letter,  for  I  have  n't  kept 
it.  Of  what  use  keeping  letters  ?  I 
say.  Burn,  burn,  burn.  Xo  heart- 
pangs.  No  reproaches.  No  yester- 
day. Was  it  happy,  or  miserable  f 
To  think  of  it  is  always  melancholy. 
Go  to  !  I  dare  say  it  is  the  thought 
of  that  fog  which  is  making  this 
sentence  so  dismal.  Meanwhile  there 
is  Madame  Laura's  face  smiling  out 
of  the  darkness,  as  pleased  as  may  be ; 
and  no  wonder,  she  is  always  happy 
when  her  friends  are  so. 


Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full 
account  of  the  settlement  of  the 
Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's 
boarding-house,  where  they  appear 
to  have  been  really  very  comfortable, 
and  to  have  lived  at  a  very  cheap  rate. 
As  for  Mr.  Philip,  he  made  his  way 
to  a  crib,  to  which  his  artist  friends 
had  recommended  him,  on  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  side  of  the  water, 
—  the  "  Hotel  Poussin,"  in  the  street 
of  that  name,  which  lies,  you  know, 
between  the  Mazarin  Library  and 
the  Musee  des  Beaux  Arts.  In  for- 
mer days,  my  gentleman  had  lived  in 
state  and  bounty  in  the  English  hotels 
and  quarter.  Now  he  found  himself 
very  handsomely  lodged  for  thirty 
francs  per  month,  and  with  five  or  six 
pounds,  he  has  repeatedly  said  since, 
he  could  carry  through  the  month 
very  comfortably.  I  don't  say,  my 
young  traveller,  that  you  can  be  so 
lucky  nowadays.  Are  we  not  tell- 
ing a  story  of  twenty  years  ago  1 
Aye  marry.  Ere  steam-coaches  had 
begun  to  scream  on  French  rails; 
and  when  Louis  Philippe  was  king. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  la 
ruined  he  must  needs  fall  in  love.  In 
order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object, 
he  must  needs  follow  her  to  Paris, 
and  give  up  his  promised  studies  for 
the  bar  at  home ;  where,  to  do  him 
justice,  I  believe  the  fellow  would 
never  have  done  any  good.  And  he 
has  not  been  in  Paris  a  fortnight 
when  that  fantastic  jade  Fortune, 
who  had  seemed  to  fly  av\'ay  from 
him,  gives  him  a  smiling  look  of 
recognition,  as  if  to  say,  "  Young 
gentleman,  I  have  not  quite  done 
with  you." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much. 
Do  not  suppose  that  Philip  suddenly 
drew  a  twenty-thousand  pound  prize 
in  a  lottery.  But,  being  in  much 
want  of  money,  he  suddenl}'  found 
himself  enabled  to  earn  some  in  a 
way  pretty  easy  to  himself. 

In  the  first  place,  Philip  found  his 
friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford  in  a 
bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris, 
in  which  city  Mugford  would  never 


THE  ADVEXTUCF.S   OF   PHILIP. 


217 


consent  to  have  a  laquais  de  place, 
being  firmly  cimvineed  to  the  day  of 
his  death  that  he  knew  tlie  French 
languaij;e  quite  sufficiently  for  all  piu'- 
poses  of  conversation.  Philip,  who 
had  often  visited  Paris  before,  came 
to  the  aid  of  his  friends  in  a  two-franc 
dining-house,  which  he  frequented 
for  economy's  sake;  and  they,  be- 
cause they  thought  the  banquet  there 
provided  not  only  cheap,  but  most 
magnificent  and  satisfactory.  He 
interpreted  for  them,  and  rescued 
them  from  their  perplexity,  whatever 
it  was.  He  treated  tliem  handsomely 
to  cafFy  on  the  bully vard,  as  Mngford 
said  on  returning  home  and  in  re- 
counting the  adventure  to  me.  "  He 
can't  forget  that  he  has  been  a  swell : 
and  he  does  do  things  like  a  gentle- 
man, that  Firmin  does.  He  came 
back  with  us  to  our  hotel,  —  Meu- 
rice's,"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  "  and  who 
should  drive  into  tlie  yard  and  step 
out  of  his  carriage  but  Lord  Ping- 
wood,  —  you  know  Lord  Ringwood  ? 
everybody  knows  him.  As  he  gets 
out  of  his  carriage —  '  What !  is  that 
you,  Philip  ?  '  says  his  Lordship,  giv- 
ing the  young  fellow  his  hand. 
'  Come  and  breakfast  with  me  to- 
morrow morning.'  And  away  he 
goes  most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord 
Ringwood,  whose  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  was  strong,  —  who,  I 
fear,  was  rather  a  selfish  nobleman. — 
and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard, 
had  given  orders  to  refuse  Mr.  Philip 
entrance  at  his  door,  —  should  all  of 
a  sudden  turn  round  and  greet  the 
young  man  with  cordiality  1  In  the 
first  place,  Philip  had  never  troubled 
his  Lordship's  knocker  at  all  ;  and 
secoml,  as  luck  would  have  it,  on  this 
very  day  of  their  meeting,  his  Lordship 
had  been  to  dine  with  that  well-known 
Parisian  resident  and  Imi  vivant,  my 
Lord  Viscount  Trim,  who  had  been 
governor  of  the  Sago  Islands  when 
Colonel  Baynes  was  there  with  his 
regiment,  the  gallant  100th.  And 
the  General  and  his  old  West  India 
governor  meeting  at  church,  my 
10 


Lord  Trim  straightway  asked  Gen- 
eral Baynes  to  dinner,  where  Lord 
Ringwood  was  present,  along  with 
other  distinguished  company,  whom 
at  ])resent  we  need  not  particularize. 
Now  it  has  been  said  that  Philip 
Ringwood,  my  Lord's  brother,  and 
Captain  Baynes  in  early  youth  had 
been  close  friends,  and  that  the  Colo- 
nel had  died  in  the  Captain's  arms. 
Lord  Ringwood,  who  had  an  excel- 
lent memory  when  he  chose  to  use  it, 
was  pleased  on  this  occasion  to  re- 
member General  Baynes  and  his 
intimacy  with  his  brotiier  in  old 
days.  And  of  those  old  times  they 
talked ;  the  General  waxing  more 
eloquent,  I  suppose,  than  his 
wont  over  Lord  Trim's  excellent 
wine.  And  in  the  course  of  conver- 
sation I'liilip  was  named,  and  the 
General,  warm  with  drink,  poured  out 
a  most  entlitisiastic  culogium  on  bis 
young  friend,  and  mentioned  how 
nohle  and  self-dtnying  Philip's  con- 
duct had  1  ecu  in  his  own  case.  And 
perhaps  Lord  Ringwood  was  pleased 
at  hearing  these  ]jraiscs  of  his  broth- 
er's grandson ;  and  perhaps  he 
thoufiht  of  old  times,  wlicn  he  had  a 
heart,  and  lie  and  his  brother  loved 
each  other.  And  ihoiifib  he  might 
think  Philip  Firmin  an  absurd  young 
blockhead  for  giving  up  any  claims 
which  he  might  have  on  General 
Baynes,  at  any  rate  I  have  no  doubt 
his  Lordship  thought,  "  This  hoy  is 
not  likely  to  come  begiring  money 
from  me  !  "  Hence,  when  he  drove 
back  to  his  hotel  on  the  very  night 
after  this  diimer,  and  in  the  court- 
yard saw  that  Philij)  Firinin,  his 
brother's  grandson,  the  heart  of  the 
old  nobleman  was  smitten  \\\\\\  a 
kindly  sentiment,  and  he  bade  Philip 
to  come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's 
oddities,  and  amongst  these  was  a 
very  remarkable  change  in  his  a[i])car- 
ance,  which  ensued  very  speedily  after 
his  ruin.  I  know  that  the  greater 
number  of  story-readers  are  young, 
and  those  who  are  ever  so  old  remem- 
ber that  their  own  young  days  occurred 


218 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


but  a  very,  very  short  while  ago. 
Don't  you  remember,  most  potent, 
giave,  and  reverend  senior,  when  \ou 
were  a  junior,  and  actuiilly  rather 
pleased  with  new  clothes  ?  Does  a 
new  coat  or  a  waistcoat  cause  you 
any  pleasure  now  1  To  a  well-con- 
stituted middle-aged  gentleman,  I 
rather  tnist  a  smart  new  suit  causes  a 
sensation  of  uneasiness,  —  not  from 
the  tightness  of  tlie  fit,  Avhieh  may  be 
a  reason,  —  but  from  the  gloss  and 
splendor.     When  my  late  kind  friend, 

Mrs. ,  gave  me  the  emerald  tabi- 

net  waistcoat,  with  the  gold  sham- 
rocks, I  wore  it  once  to  go  to  Rich- 
mond to  dine  with  her ;  but  I  buttoned 
myself  so  closely  in  an  upper  coat, 
that  I  am  sure  nobody  in  the  omnibus 
saw  what  a  painted  vest  I  had  on. 
Gold  sprigs  and  emei^ld  tabinet,  what 
a  gorgeous  raiment !  It  has  formed 
for  ten  years  the  chief  ornament  of 
my  wardrobe;  and  though  I  have 
never  dared  to  wear  it  since,  I  always 
think  with  a  secret  pleasure  of  pos- 
sessing that  treasure.  Do  women, 
when  they  are  sixty,  like  handsome 
and  fashionable  attire,  and  a  youthful 
appearance  ?  Look  at  Lady  Jezebel's 
blushing  cheek,  her  raven  hair,  her 
splendid  gannents  !  But  this  disqui- 
sition may  be  carried  to  too  great  a 
length.  I  want  to  note  a  fiict  which 
has  occurred  not  seldom  in  my  expe- 
rience, —  that  men  who  have  been 
great  dandies  will  often  and  sudden- 
ly give  up  their  long  -  accustomed 
splendor  of  dress,  and  walk  about, 
most  happy  and  contented,  with  the 
shabbiest  ofcoats  and  hats.  Xo.  Tlic 
majority  of  men  are  not  vain  about 
their  dress.  For  instance,  within  a 
very  few  years,  men  used  to  have  pretty 
feet.  See  in  what  a  re-olute  way 
they  have  kicked  their  pretty  boots 
off  almost  to  a  man,  and  wear  great, 
thick,  formless,  comfortable  walking- 
boots,  of  shape  scarcely  more  graceful 
than  a  tub  ! 

When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on 
the  town,  there  were  dandies  still ; 
there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet 
and  brocade,  and  tall  stocks  with  cata- 


racts of  satin ;  there  were  pins,  studs, 
neck-chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic 
splendors  of  youth.  His  varnished 
boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees.  He 
had  a  most  resplendent  silver-gilt 
dressing-case,  presented  to  him  liy  his 
father  (for  which,  it  is  true,  the  Doc- 
tor neglected  to  pay,  leaving  that 
duty  to  his  son).  ''  It  is  a  mere  cere- 
mony," said  the  worthy  Doctor,  "  a 
cumbrous  tiling  you  may  fancy  at 
iirst ;  but  take  it  about  with  you.  It 
looks  well  on  a  man's  dressing-table 
at  a  countiy-house.  It  poses  a  man, 
you  understand.  I  have  known  wo- 
men come  in  and  peep  at  it.  A  trifle 
you  may  say,  my  boy  ;  but  what 
is  the  use  of  flinging  any  chance 
in  life  away  1  "  Now,  when  misfor- 
tune came,  young  Philip  flung  away 
all  these  magnificent  follies.  He 
wrapped  himself  vii-tute  sua ;  and  I  am 
bound  to  say  a  more  queer-looking 
fellow  than  friend  Philip  seldom 
walked  the  pavement  of  London  or 
Paris.  He  could  not  wear  the  nap  off 
all  his  coats,  or  rub  his  elbows  into 
rags  in  six  months  ;  but,  as  he  would 
say  of  himself  with  much  simplicity, 
"  I  do  think  I  run  to  seed  more  quick- 
ly than  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  All 
my  socks  in  holes,  Mrs.  Pendennis; 
all  my  shirt-buttons  gone,  I  give  you 
my  word.  I  don't  know  how  the 
things  hold  together,  and  why  they 
don't  tumble  to  pieces.  I  suspect  I 
must  have  a  bad  laundress."  Sus- 
pect !  My  children  used  to  laugh 
and  crow  as  they  sewed  buttons  on 
to  him.  As  for  the  Little  Sister,  she 
broke  into  his  apartments  in  his  ab- 
sence, and  said  that  it  turned  her  hair 
gray  to  .see  the  state  of  his  wanlrobc.  I 
believe  that  Mrs.  Brandon  putsurre|>- 
titious  linen  into  his  drawers.  He 
did  not  know.  He  wore  the  shirts  in 
a  contented  spirit.  The  glossy  boots 
began  to  crack  and  then  to  burst,  and 
Philip  wore  them  with  perfect  equa- 
nimity. Where  were  the  beautiful 
lavender  and  lemon  gloves  of  last 
year  ?  His  great  naked  hands  (with 
which  he  gesticulates  so  grandly) 
were  as   brown  as  an  Indian's  now. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


219 


"We  had  liked  him  heartily  in  his  days 
of  splendor  ;  we  loved  him  now  in  his 
threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  young  man  striding 
into  the  room  where  his  Lordship's 
guests  were  assembled.  In  the  ])res- 
ence  of  great  or  small,  Philip  has  al- 
ways been  entirely  unconcerned,  and 
he  is  one  of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have 
seen  in  my  life  upon  whom  rank 
made  no  impression.  It  appears 
that,  on  occasion  of  this  breakfast, 
there  were  one  or  two  dandies  present 
who  were  aghast  at  Philip's  freedom 
of  behavior.  lie  engaged  in  conver- 
sation with  a  famous  French  states- 
man ;  contradicted  him  with  much 
energy  in  his  own  language;  and 
when  the  statesman  asked  whether 
monsieur  was  membre  du  Parlement  1 
Philip  burst  into  one  of  his  roars  of 
laughter,  which  almost  breaks  the 
glasses  on  a  table,  and  f^aid,  "  Je  suis 
joumaliste,  monsieur,  a  vos  ordrcs  !  " 
Young  Timburj-  of  the  Embassy  was 
aghast  at  Philip's  insolence ;  and  Dr. 
Botts,  his  Lordship's  travelling  physi- 
cian,looked  at  him  with  a  terrified  face. 
A  bottle  of  claret  was  brought,  which 
almost  all  the  gentlemen  present  be- 
gan to  swallow,  until  Philip,  tasting 
his  glass,  called  out,  "  Faugh  !  It  's 
corked  1  "  "  So  it  is,  and  very  badly 
corked,"  growls  my  Lord,  with  "one 
of  his  usual  oaths.  "  Why  did  n't 
some  of  you  fellows  speak  1  Do  you 
like  corked  wine  ? "  There  were 
gallant  fellows  round  that  table  who 
would  have  drunk  corked  black  dose, 
h:id  his  Lordship  professed  to  like 
senna.  The  old  host  was  tickled  and 
amused.  "  Your  mother  was  a  quiet 
soul,  and  your  father  used  to  bow- 
like  a  dancing-master.  Yon  ain't 
much  like  him.  I  dine  at  home  most 
days.  Leave  word  in  the  morning 
with  my  people,  and  come  when  you 
like,  Philip,  he  growled.  A  part  of 
this  news  Philip  narrated  to  us  in  his 
letter,  and  other  part  was  given  ver- 
bally by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mngford  on 
their  return  to  London.  "  I  tell  you, 
sir,"  says  Mngford,  "  he  has  been 
taken  by  the  hand  by  some  of  the  tip- 


top people,  and  I  have  booked  him  at 
three  guineas  a  week  for  a  letter  to 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette." 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  my  wife's 
exultation  and  triumjdiant  "  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  1  "  Philip's  foot  was  on 
the  ladder  ;  and  who  so  capable  of 
mounting  to  the  tO])  ?  When  hap- 
piness and  a  fond  and  lovely  girl  were 
waiting  for  him  there,  would  he  lose 
heart,  spare  exertion,  or  be  afraid  to 
climb  ?  He  had  no  truer  well-wisher 
than  myself,  and  no  friend  who  liked 
hiin  better,  though,  I  dare  say,  many 
admired  him  much  more  than  I  did. 
But  these  were  women  for  the  most 
part ;  and  women  become  so  absurdly 
unjust  and  partial  to  persons  whom 
they  love,  when  these  latter  are  in 
misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised  Mr. 
lliilip  did  not  quite  lose  his  head  in 
his  poverty,  with  such  fond  flatterers 
ond  sycophants  round  about  him. 
Would  you  grudge  him  the  consola- 
tion to  be  had  from  these  sweet  uses 
of  adversity  ?  Many  a  heart  would 
be  hardened  but  for  the  memory  of 
past  griefs  ;  when  eyes,  now  averted, 
perhaps,  were  full  of  sympathy,  and 
hands,  now  cold,  were  eager  to  soothe 
and  succor. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

QU'ON    EST    BIEN    X    VINGT    ANS. 

A  FAIR  correspondent  —  and  I 
would  parenthetically  hint  that  all  cor- 
respondents are  not  fair  —  point<  out 
the  discrepancy  existing  between  the 
text  and  the  illustrations  of  our  story  ; 
and  justly  remarks  that  the  story  dat- 
ed more  than  twenty  years  hack, 
while  the  costumes  of  the  actors  of  our 
little  comedy  are  of  the  fashion  of  to- 
day. 

My  dear  madam,  these  anachron- 
isms must  be,  or  you  would  scarcely 
he  able  to  keep  any  interest  for  our 
characters.  What  would  be  a  woman 
without  a  crinoline  petticoat,  for  ex- 
ample ?  an  object  ridiculous,  hateful, 
I  suppose  hardly  proper.  What 
would  you  think  of  a  hero  who  wore 


220 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


a  laryje  high  black-satin  stock  cascad- 
ing over  a  figured  silk  waistcoat ; 
and  a  blue  dress-coat,  with  brass  but- 
tons, mayhap  1  If  a  person  so  attired 
came  up  to  ask  you  to  dance,  could 
you  refrain  from  laughing?  Time 
was  when  young  men  so  decorated 
foun^  favor  in  the  eyes  of  damsels 
who  had  never  beheld  hooped  petti- 
coats, except  in  their  grandmother's 
portraits.  Persons  who  flourished  in 
the  first  part  of  the  century  never 
thought  to  see  the  hoops  of  our  ances- 
tors' age  rolled  downwards  to  our  con- 
temporaries and  children.  Did  we 
ever  imagine  that  a  period  would  ar- 
rive when  our  young  men  would  part 
their  hair  down  the  middle,  and  wear 
a  piece  of  tape  for  a  neckcloth  ?  As 
soon  should  we  have  thought  of  their 
dyeing  their  bodies  with  woad,  and 
arraying  themselves  like  ancient  Brit- 
ons. So  the  ages  have  their  dress  and 
undress ;  and  the  gentlemen  and 
ladies  of  Victoria's  time  are  satisfied 
with  their  manner  of  raiment;  as  no 
doubt  in  Boadicea's  court  they  looked 
charming  tattooed  and  painted  blue. 

The  times  of  wliich  we  write,  the 
times  of  Louis  Philippe  the  king,  are 
so  altered  from  the  present,  that  when 
Philip  Firmin  went  to  Paris  it  was 
absolutely  a  cheap  place  to  live  in ; 
and  he  has  often  bragged  in  subse- 
quent days  of  having  lived  well  during 
a  month  fof  five  pounds,  and  bought  a 
neat  waistcoat  with  a  part  of  the  mon- 
ey. "  A  capital  bedroom,  au  premier, 
for  a  franc  a  day,  sir,"  he  would  call 
all  persons  to  remark,  "  a  bedroom 
as  good  as  yours,  my  Lord,  at  Men- 
rice's.  Very  good  tea  or  coffee  break- 
fast, twenty  francs  a  month,  with  lots 
of  brea  1  and  biltter.  Twenty  francs 
a  month  for  washing,  and  fifty  for 
dinntu-  and  jxicket-money,  —  that  's 
about  the  figure.  The  dinner,  I  own,  is 
shy,  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my 
friends ;  and  then  I  make  up  for  ban- 
yan days."  And  so  saying  Philip 
would  call  out  for  more  truffled  par- 
tridges, or  affably  filled  his  goblet 
with  my  Lord  Ringwood's  best  Sillery.  j 
"  At  those  shops,"  he  would  observe,  I 


"  where  I  dine,  I  have  beer :  I  can't 
stand  the  wine.  And  you  see,  I  can't 
go  to  the  cheap  English  ordinaries,  of 
which  there  are  many,  because  Eng- 
lish gentlemen's  servants  are  there, 
you  know,  and  it 's  not  pleasant  to  sit 
with  a  fellow  who  waits  on  you  the 
day  after." 

"  Oh  !  the  English  servants  go  to  the 
cheap  ordinaries,  do  they  1  "  asks 
my  Lord,  greatly  amused,  "  and  you 
drink  biere  de  Mars  at  the  shop  where 
you  dine  ?  " 

"  And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can 
tell  you.  Always  come  away  hungry. 
Give  me  some  champagne,  —  the  dry, 
if  you  please.  They  mix  very  well 
together,  —  sweet  and  dry.  Did  you 
ever  dine  at  Flicoteau's,  Mr.  Pecker? " 

"  /  dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two- 
franc  houses  ? "  cries  Mr.  Pecker, 
with  a  look  of  terror.  "Do  you  know, 
my  Lord,  there  are  actually  houses 
where  people  dine  for  two  francs  ?  " 

"  Two  francs  !  Seventeen  sous  !  " 
bawls  out  Mr.  Firmin.  "  The  soup, 
the  beef,  the  roti,  the  salad,  the  des- 
sert, and  the  whitey-brown  bread  at 
discretion.  It 's  not  a  good  dinner, 
certainly,  —  in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful 
bad  one.  But  to  dine  so  would  do 
some  fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  What  do  you  say.  Pecker  Y  Fli- 
coteau's ;  seventeen  sous.  We  '11  make 
a  little  party  and  try,  and  Firmin 
shall  do  the  honors  of  his  restau- 
rant," says  my  Lord,  with  a  grin. 

"  Mercy  !  "  gasps  Mr.  Pecker. 

"  I  had  rather  dine  here,  if  you 
please,  my  Lord,"  says  the  young  man. 
"  This  is  cheaper,  and  certainly  bet- 
ter." 

My  Lord's  doctor,  and  many  of  the 
guests  at  his  table,  my  Lord's  hench- 
men, flatterers,  and  led  -  captains, 
looked  aghast  at  the  freedom  of  the 
young  fellow  in  the  shabby  coat.  If 
i/iei/  dared  to  be  familiar  with  their 
host,  there  came  a  scowl  over  that  no- 
ble countenance  which  was  awful  to 
face.  They  drank  his  corked  wine  in 
meekness  of  spirit.  They  laughed  at 
his  jokes  trembling.  One  after  an- 
other, they  were   the   objects  of  Lis 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


221 


satire;  and  each  grinned  piteously, 
as  lie  took  his  turn  of  punishment. 
Some  dinners  are  dear,  though  they 
cost  nothing.  At  some  great  t!il)les 
are  not  toads  served  along  with  the 
entries  ?  Yes,  and  many  amateurs 
are  exceedinglj"^  fond  of  the  dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all  ?  is  a 
question  which  has  often  set  me  won- 
dering. How  do  men  in  public  offices, 
with  fifteen  thousand  francs,  let  us  say, 
for  a  salary,  —  and  this,  for  a  French 
official,  is  a  high  salary,  —  live  in 
handsome  apartments ;  give  genteel 
entertainments  ;  clothe  themselves  and 
their  families  with  much  more  sump- 
tuous raiment  than  English  people  of 
the  same  station  can  afford ;  take 
their  country  holiday,  a  six  weeks'  so- 
journ, aux  eaux ;  and  appear  cheerful 
and  to  want  for  nothing  ?  Paterfa- 
milias, with  six  hundred  a  year  in 
London,  knows  what  a  straitened 
life  his  is,  with  rent  high,  and  beef  at 
a  shilling  a  pound.  Well,  in  Paris, 
rent  is  higher,  and  meat  is  dearer ;  and 
yot  madame  is  richly  dressed  when 

{'^ou  see  her;  monsieur  has  always  a 
ittle  money  in  his  pocket  for  his  club, 
or  his  cafe ;  and  something  is  pretty 
surely  put  away  every  year  for  the 
marriage  portion  of  the  young  folks. 
"  Sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  describing 
this  period  of  his  life,  on  which  and 
on  most  subjects  regarding  himself, 
by  the  way,  he  was  wont  to  be  very  elo- 
quent, "  when  my  income  was  raised  to 
five  thousand  francs  a  year,  I  give  you 
my  word  I  was  considered  to  be  rich 
by  my  French  acquaintance.  I  gave 
four  sous  to  the  waiter  at  our  dining- 
place  :  —  in  that  respect  I  was  always 
ostentations :  —  and  I  believe  they 
called  me  Milor.  I  should  have  been 
poo;  in  the  Rue  dc  la  Paix :  but  I  was 
wealthy  in  the  Luxembourg  quarter. 
Don't  tell  me  about  poverty,  sir ! 
Poverty  is  a  bully  if  you  are  afraid  of 
her,  or  truckle  to  her.  Poverty  is 
good-natured  enough  if  you  meet  her 
like  a  man.  You  saw  how  my  poor  old 
father  was  afraid  of  her,  and  thought 
the  world  would  come  to  an  end 
if  Dr.  Firmin  did  not  keep  his  butler, 


'  and  his  footman,  and  his  fine  house, 
and  fine  chariot  and  horses  1  He  was 
a  jjoor  man,  if  you  please.  He  must 
have  suffered  agonies  in  his  struggle 
to  make  both  ends  meet.  Everything 
he  bought  must  have  cost  him  twice 
the  honest  price ;  and  when  I  think  of 
nights  that  must  have  been  passed 
without  sleep, — of  that  proud  man 
having  to  smirk  and  cringe  before 
creditors,  —  to  coax  butchers,  by 
George,  and  wheedle  tailors,  —  I  pity 
him  :  I  can't  be  angry  any  more. 
That  man  has  suffered  enough.  As 
for  me,  have  n't   you    reinaiked    that 

j  since  I  have  not  a  guinea  in  the  world, 
I   swagger,  and  am  a   much  greater 

!  swell  than  before  f  "  And  the  truth 
is  that  a  Prince  Royal  could  not  have 

,  called  for  his  (/eris  with  a  more  mag- 
nificent air  than  Mr.  Piiilip  when  he 
summoned  the  waiter,  and  paid  for 
his  pdit  veiTe. 

Talk  of  poverty,  indeed !  That 
period,  Philip  vows,  was  the  happiest 
of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after 
days  of  the  choice  acquaintance  of 
Bohemians  which  he  had  formed. 
Their  jug,  he  said,  though  it  contairted 
but  small  beer,  was  always  full.  Their 
tobacco,  though  it  bore  no  higher  rank 
than  that  of  caporal,  was  plentiful  and 
fragrant.  He  knew  some  admirable 
medical  students :  some  artists  who 
only  wanted  talent  and  industry  to  be 
at  the  height  of  their  profession  :  and 
one  or  two  of  the  magnates  of  his  own 
calling,  the  newspaper  correspondents, 
whose  houses  and  tables  were  open 
to  him.  It  was  wonderful  what  se- 
crets of  politics  he  learned  and  trans- 
mitted to  his  own  paper.  He  pursued 
French  statesmen  of  those  days  with 
prodigious  eloquence  and  vigor.  At 
the  expense  of  that  old  king  he  was 
wonderfully  witty  and  sarcastical. 
He  reviewed  the  affairs  of  Europe, 
settled  the  destinies  of  Russia,  de- 
nounced the  Spanish  marriages,  dis- 
posed of  the  Pope,  and  advocated  the 
Liberal  cause  in  France  with  an  un- 
tiring eloquence.  "  Absinthe  used  to 
be  my  drink,  sir,"  so   he  was  good 

enough  to  tell  his  friends.     "  It  makes 


222 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  ink  run,  and  imparts  a  fine  elo-  j 
quence  to  the  style.  Mercy  upon  us,  i 
how  I  would  belabor  that  poor  king 
of  the  French  under  the  influence  of 
absinthe,  in  tliat  cafe  opposite  the 
Bourse  where  I  used  to  make  my  let- 
ter !  Who  knows,  sir,  perhaps  the 
influence  of  those  letters  precipitated 
the  fall  of  the  Bourton  dynasty  !  Be- 
fore I  had  an  office,  Gillij!;an,  of  the 
Century,  anu  I,  used  to  do  our  let- 
ters at  that  cafe' ;  we  compared  notes 
and  pitched  into  each  other  ami- 
cably." 

GiUigan  of  the  Century,  and  Fir- 
min  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  were, 
however,  very  minor  personages 
amongst  the  London  newspaper  cor- 
respondents. Their  .seniors  of  the 
daily  press  had  handsome  apartments, 
gave  sumptuous  dinners,  were  clos- 
eted with  ministers'  secretaries,  and 
entertained  members  of  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies.  Philip,  on  perfectly 
easy  terms  with  himself  and  the 
world,  swaggering  about  the  emba.ssy 
balls,  —  Philip,  the  friend  and  rela- 
tive of  Lord  Ringwood,  —  was  viewed 
by  his  professional  seniors  and  supe- 
riors with  an  eye  of  favor,  which  was 
not  certainly  turned  on  all  gentlemen 
following  his  calling.  (Certainly  poor 
Gilligan  was  never  asked  to  those  din- 
ners, which  some  of  tiie  newspaper 
ambassadors  gave,  whereas  Philip 
was  received  not  unhospitably.  Gil- 
ligan received  but  a  cold  shoulder  at 
Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's  Thurs- 
days ;  and  as  for  l)eing  asked  to  din- 
ner, "  Bedad,  that  fellow,  Firmin,  has 
an  air  with  him  which  will  carry  him 
through  anywhere  !  "  Phil's  brother 
correspondent  ownwL  "  He  seems  to 
patronize  an  ambassador  when  he 
goes  up  and  speaks  to  him  ;  and  he 
says  to  a  secretary,  '  My  good  fellow, 
tell  your  master  that  Mr.  Firmin,  of 
the  Pa!l  Mall  Gazette,  wants  to  see 
him,  and  will  thank  him  to  step  over 
to  the  Cafe  de  la  Bourse.'  "  I  don't 
think  Philip,  for  his  part,  would  have 
seen  much  matter  of  surprise  in  a 
Minister  stepping  over  to  speak  to 
him.      To  him  all  folk  were  alike. 


great  and  small ;  and  it  is  recorded 
I  of  him  that  when,  on  one  occasion. 
Lord  Ringwood  paid  him  a  visit  at 
his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main, Philip  aflfably  offered  his  Lord- 
I  ship  a  cornet  of  fried  potatoes,  with 
'  which,  and  plentiful  tobacco  of  course, 
Philip  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends 
were  regaling  themselves  when  Lord 
Ringwood  chanced    to    call   on   his 
I  kinsman. 

i  A  crust  and  a  carafon  of  small  beer, 
j  a  correspondence  with  a  weekly  pa- 
per, and  a  remuneration  such  as  that 
we  have  mentioned,  —  was  Philip 
Firmin  to  look  for  no  more  than  this 
pittance,  and  not  to  seek  for  more 
permanent  and  lucrative  employ- 
I  ment  ?  Some  of  his  friends  at  home 
!  were  rather  vexed  at  what  Philip 
chose  to  consider  his  good  fortune ; 
namely,  his  connection  with  the  news- 
paper, and  the  small  stipend  it  gave 
him.  He  might  quarrel  with  his  em- 
ployer any  day.  Indeed  no  man  was 
more  likely  to  fling  his  bread-and- 
butter  out  of  window  than  Mr.  Philip. 
He  was  losing  precious  time  at  the 
bar;  where  he,  as  hundreds  of  other 
poor  gentlemen  had  done  before  him, 
might  make  a  career  for  himself. 
For  what  are  colonies  made^  Why 
do  bankruptcies  occur  ?  Why  do 
people  break  the  peace  and  quarrel 
with  policemen,  but  that  barristers 
may  be  employed  as  judges,  commis- 
sioners, magistrates  1  A  reporter  to 
a  newspaper  remains  all  his  life  a 
newspaper  reporter.  Philip,  if  he 
would  but  help  himself,  had  friends 
in  the  world  who  might  aid  effectual- 
ly to  advance  him.  So  it  was  we 
pleaded  with  him  in  the  language  of 
moderation,  urging  the  dictates  of 
common  sense.  As  if  moderation 
and  common  sense  could  be  got  to 
move  that  mule  of  a  Philip  Firmin ; 
as  if  any  persuasion  of  ours  could 
induce  him  to  do  anything  but  what 
he  liked  to  do  best  himself! 

"  That  you  should  be  worldly,  my 
poor  fellow"  (so  Philip  wrote  to  his 
present  biographer),  —  "  that  you 
shoutfl  be  thinking  of  money  and  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


223 


main  chance,  is  no  matter  of  surprise  \ 
to  me  You  have  suffered  under  that 
curse  of  manhood,  that  destroyer  of 
generosity  in  the  mind,  that  parent 
of  selfishness, —  a  little  fortune.  You 
have  your  wretchetl  hundreds"  (my 
candid  eorres]X)ndent  stated  the  sum 
correctly  enough  ;  and  I  wish  it  were 
double  or  treble  ;  but  that  is  not  here 
the  point)  "  paid  quarterly.  The 
miserable  pittance  numbs  your  whole 
existence.  It  prevents  freedom  of 
thought  and  action.  It  make-s  a 
screw  of  a  man  who  is  certainly  not 
without  generous  impulses,  as  I 
know,  my  poor  old  Harpagon ;  for 
hast  thou  not  ofliered  to  open  thy 
purse  to  me  ?  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of 
the  way  in  which  people  in  London, 
especially  good  people,  think  about 
money.  You  live  up  to  your  income's 
edge.  You  are  miserably  poor.  You 
brag  and  flatter  \  ourselves  that  you 
owe  no  man  anything ;  but  your 
estate  has  creditors  upon  it  as  insatia- 
ble as  any  usurer,  and  as  hard  as  any 
bailiff.  You  call  me  reckless,  and 
prodigal,  and  idle,  and  all  sorts  of 
names,  because  I  live  in  a  single 
room,  do  as  little  work  as  I  can,  and 
go  about  with  holes  in  my  boots : 
and  you  flatter  yourself  you  are  pru- 
dent, because  you  have  a  genteel 
house,  a  grave  flunkey  out  of  livery, 
and  two  green-grocers  to  wait  when 
you  give  your  half-dozen  dreary  din- 
ner-parties. Wretched  man !  You 
are  a  slave  :  not  a  man.  You  are  a 
pauper,  with  a  good  house  and  good 
clothes.  You  are  so  miserably  pru- 
dent, that  all  your  money  is  spent 
for  you,  except  the  few  wretched 
shillings  which  you  allow  yourself  for 
pocket-money.  You  tremble  at  the 
expense  of  a  cab.  I  believe  you  act- 
ually look  at  half  a  crown  before 
you  spend  it.  The  landlord  is  your 
master.  The  livery-stable  keeper  is 
your  master.  A  train  of  ruthless, 
useless  servants  are  your  pitiless 
creditors,  to  whom  you  have  to  pay 
exorbitant  dividends  every  day.  I, 
with  a  hole  in  my  elbow,  who  live 
npon  a  shilling  dinner,  and  walk  on 


cracked  boot-soles,  am  called  extrav- 
agant, idle,  reckless,  I  don't  know 
what ;  while  you,  forsooth,  consider 
yourself  prudent.  Miserable  delu- 
sion !  You  are  flinging  away  heaps 
of  money  on  useless  flunkeys,  on  use- 
less maid-servants,  on  useless  lodg- 
ings, on  useless  finery,  —  and  you 
.say,  '  I'oor  Phil !  what  a  sad  idler  he 
is  !  how  he  flings  himself  away  !  in 
what  a  wretched,  disreputable  man- 
ner he  lives  ! '  Poor  Phil  is  as  rich 
as  30U  are,  for  he  has  enough,  and  is 
content  Poor  I'hil  can  aflbrd  to  be 
idle,  and  you  can't.  You  must  work 
in  order  to  keep  that  great  hulking 
footman,  that  great  ravvboned  cook, 
that  army  of  babbling  nursery-maids, 
and  I  don't  know  what  more.  And 
if  you  choose  to  submit  to  the  slavery 
and  degradation  inseparable  from 
your  condition  ;  —  the  wretched  in- 
spection of  candle-ends,  which  you 
call  order  ;  —  the  mean  self-denials, 
which  you  must  daily  practise,  —  I 
pity  you,  and  don't  quanel  with  you. 
But  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  in- 
sufferably virtuous,  and  ready  with 
your  blame  and  pity  for  me.  If  I  am 
happy,  pray  need  you  be  disquieted  ? 
Suppose  I  prefer  independence,  and 
shabby  Loots  ?  Are  not  these  better 
ihiin  to  be  pinched  by  your  abomina- 
ble varnished  conventionalism,  and 
to  be  denied  the  liberty  of  free  ac- 
tion ?  My  poor  fellow,  I  pity  you 
from  my  heart ;  and  it  grieves  me  to 
think  how  those  fine,  honest  children 
—  honest,  and  hearty,  and  frank,  and 
open  as  yet  —  are  to  lose  their  natu- 
ral good  qualities,  and  to  be  swathed, 
and  swaddled,  and  stifled  out  of  health 
and  honesty  by  that  obstinate  world- 
ling, their  father.  Don't  tell  tve 
about  the  world  ;  I  know  it.  People 
sacrifice  the  next  world  to  it,  and  are 
all  the  while  proud  of  their  prudence. 
Look  at  my  miserable  relations, 
steeped  in  respectability.  Look  at 
my  father.  There  is  a  chance  for 
him,  now  he  is  down  and  in  poverty. 
I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,  con- 
taining more  of  that  dreadful  worldly 
advice  which  you  Pharisees  give.    If 


224 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


it  were  n't  for  Laura  and  the  children, 
sir,  I  heartily  wish  you  were  ruined 
like  your  affectionate  —  P.  F. 

"  N.  B.,  P.  S.  —  O  Pen  !  I  am  so 
hiippy !  She  is  such  a  little  darling ! 
I  bathe  in  h^'r  innocence,  sir  !  I 
strengthjn  luysalf  in  her  purity.  I 
kiK'el  l)efbrj  her  sweet  <^oodness  and 
unconsciousness  of  guile.  I  walk 
fr.juj  my  r.join,  and  see  her  every 
nioriiin^  before  S3ven  o'clock.  I  see 
her  every  afternoon.  Siie  loves  you 
and  L  uira.  And  you  love  her,  don't 
yoa  ?  And  to  think  that  six  months 
ago  I  w.is  going  to  in  irry  a  woman 
without  a  heart !  Why,  sir,  blessings 
he  on  the  poor  old  father  for  spending 
our  money,  and  rescuing  me  froin 
th  It  horrible  fate  !  I  might  have 
been  like  that  fellow  in  the  •  Arabian 
Ni;ihts,'  who  marrie  1  Araina,  —  the 
respectable  woman,  wlio  dined  upon 
grains  of  rice,  but  supped  upon  cold 
dviad  body.  Was  it  not  worth  all  the 
money  I  ever  was  heir  to  to  have  es- 
caped from  that  ghoul  ?  Lord  Uing- 
wood  says  he  thinks  I  was  well  out 
of  th  it.  He  calls  people  by  Anglo- 
Saxon  names,  and  uses  very  expres- 
sive monosyllables ;  and  of  Aunt 
Twysden,  of  Uncle  Twysden,  of  the 
girls,  and  their  brother,  he  speaks  in 
a  way  which  makes  me  see  he  has 
come  to  just  conclusions  about  them. 

"  P.  S.  No.  2. —Ah,  Pen  !  She  is 
suc!i  a  fiarling.  I  think  I  am  the 
happiest  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being 
ruined !  A  scapegrace,  who,  when 
he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket, 
was  ill-tcm;)ered,  imperious,  and  dis- 
contented, now  that  he  is  not  worth 
twopence,  declares  himself  the  happi- 
est fellow  in  the  world  !  Do  you  re- 
member, my  dear,  how  he  used  to 
grumble  at  our  claret,  and  wliat  wry 
faces  he  made  when  there  was  only 
cold  meat  for  dinner  ?  The  wretch 
is  absolutely  contented  with  bread 
and  cheese  and  small  beer,  even  that 
bad  beer  which  they  have  in  Paris ! 


Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and 
as  our  mutual  avocations  permitted,  I 
saw  Piiilip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister. 
He  wrote  to  her  dutifully  from  time 
to  time.  He  told  her  of  his  love-af- 
fair with  Miss  Charlotte ;  and  my 
wite  and  I  could  console  Caroline,  by 
assuring  her  that  tliis  time  the  young 
man's  heart  was  given  to  a  worthy 
mistress.  I  say  console,  for  the  news, 
after  all,  was  sad  for  her.  In  the  lit- 
tle chamber  which  she  always  kept 
ready  for  him,  he  would  lie  awake, 
and  think  of  some  one  dearer  to  him 
than  a  hundred  poor  Carolines.  She 
would  devise  something  that  should 
be  agreeable  to  the  young  lady.  At 
Christmas  time  there  came  to  Miss 
Baynes  a  wonderfully  worked  cam- 
bric pocket-handkL-rchief,  witli "  Char- 
lotte" most  beautifully  emliroidered 
in  the  corner.  It  wiis  this  poor  wid- 
ow's mite  of  love  and  tenderness, 
which  she  meekly  laid  down  in  the 
place  where  she  worshipped.  "  And 
1  have  six  for  him,  too,  ma'am,"  Mrs. 
B -an  Ion,  told  my  wife.  "  Poor  fel- 
low !  his  shirts  was  in  a  dreadful  way 
when  he  Wi^nt  away  from  here,  and 
that  you  know,  ma'am."  So  you  see 
this  wayfarer,  having  fallen  among 
undoubted  thieves,  yet  found  many 
kind  souls  to  relieve  him,  and  many 
a  good  Samaritan  ready  with  his 
twopence,  if  need  were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the 
happiest  man  in  the  world  of  course 
you  understand.  French  people  are 
very  early  risers ;  and,  at  the  little 
hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived,  the 
whole  crew  of  the  house  were  up 
hours  before  lazy  English  msxsters  and 
servants  think  of  stirring.  At  ever 
so  early  an  hour  Phil  had  a  fine  bowl 
of  coffee  and  milk  and  bread  for  his 
breakf  ist ;  .ind  he  was  striding  down 
to  the  Invalides,  and  across  the  bridge 
to  the  Champs  F,!yse'es,  and  the  fumes 
of  his  pipe  preceded  him  with  a  pleas- 
ant odor.  And  a  short  time  .after 
passing  the  Kond  Point  in  the  Elys- 
ian  fields,  where  an  active  fountain 
was  flinging  up  showers  of  diamonds 
to  the  sky,  —  after,  I  say,  leaving  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


225 


Rond  Point  on  his  right,  and  passing 
under  umbrageous  groves  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  present  Castle  of  Flow- 
ers, Mr.  Philip  would  sec  a  little  per- 
son. Sometimes  a  young  sister  or 
brother  came  with  the  little  person. 
Sometimes  only  a  blush  fluttered  on 
her  cheek,  and  a  sweet  smile  beamed 
in  her  face  as  she  capie  forward  to 
greet  him.  For  the  angels  were  scarce 
purer  than  this  young  maid ;  and 
Una  was  no  more  afraid  of  the  lion, 
than  Charlotte  of  her  companion  with 
the  loud  voice  and  the  tawny  mane. 
I  would  not  have  envied  that  repro- 
bate's lot  who  should  have  dared  to 
say  a  doubtful  word  to  this  Una  :  but 
the  truth  is,  she  never  thought  of 
danger,  or  met  with  any.  The  work- 
men were  going  to  their  labor ;  the 
dandies  were  asleep ;  and  considering 
tiieir  age,  and  the  relationship  in 
which  they  stood  to  one  another,  I 
am  not  surprised  at  Philip  for  an- 
nouncing that  this  was  the  happiest 
time  of  his  life.  In  later  days,  when 
two  gentlemen  of  mature  age  hap- 
pened to  be  in  Paris  together,  what 
must  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  do  but  insist 
upon  walking  me  sentimentally  to 
the  Champs  Elyscts,  and  looking  at 
an  old  house  there,  a  rather  shabby 
old  house  in  a  garden.  "  That  was 
the  place,"  sighs  he.  "  That  was 
Madame  de  Smolensk's.  That  was 
the  window,  the  third  one,  with  the 
green  jalousie.  By  Jove,  sir,  how 
li:ippy  and  how  miserable  I  have  been 
behind  that  green  blind  !  "  And  my 
friend  shakes  his  large  fist  at  the 
somewhat  dilapidated  mansion, 
whence  Madame  de  Smolensk  and 
her  boarders  have  long  since  depart- 
ed. 

I  fear  that  baroness  had  engaged  in 
her  enterprise  with  insufficient  capital, 
o'  conducted  it  with  such  liberality 
that  her  profits  were  eaten  up  by  her 
boarders.  I  could  tell  dreadful  sto- 
ries impugning  the  baroness's  moral 
character.  People  said  she  had  no 
right  to  the  title  of  baroness  at  all,  or 
to  the  noble  foreign  name  of  Smo- 
lensk. People  are  still  alive  who 
10* 


knew  her  nndcr  a  different  n;>me. 
The  baroness  herself  was  what  tome 
amateurs  call  a  fine  woman,  especial- 
ly at  dinner-time,  when  she  appeared 
in  black  satin  and  with  checks  tliat 
blushed  uj)  as  far  as  the  eyelids.  In 
her  y*^ ;V/Ho/r  in  the  morning,  she  was 
perhaps  the  reverse  of  fine.  Contours 
whicli  were  round  at  night,  in  the 
forenoon  appeared  lean  and  angular 
Her  roses  only  bloomed  half  an  hour 
before  dinner-time  on  a  cheek  which 
was  quite  yellow  until  five  o'clock. 
I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  elderly  and 
ill-coniplcxioned  people  to  supply  the 
ravages  of  time  or  jaundice,  and  pre- 
sent to  our  view  a  figure  blooming 
and  agreeable,  in  ])laec  of  an  object 
faded  and  withered.  Do  you  quarrel 
with  your  opposite  neighbor  for  paint- 
ing his  house-front  or  putting  roses 
in  his  balcony  ^  You  are  rather 
thankful  for  the  adornment.  Madame 
de  Smolensk's  front  was  so  decorated 
of  afternoons.  Geraniums  were  set 
pleasantly  under  those  first-floor  win- 
dows, her  eyes.  Carcel  lamps  beamed 
from  those  windows :  lamps  which 
she  had  trimmed  with  her  own  scis- 
sors, and  into  which  that  poor  widow 
poured  the  oil  which  she  got  somehow 
and  anyhow.  When  the  dingy  break- 
fast papil/otes  were  cast  of  an  after- 
noon, what  beautiful  black  curls  ap- 
peared round  her  brow  !  The  dingy 
papillotes  were  put  away  in  the  draw- 
er:  the  peignoir  retired  to  its  hook  be- 
hind the  door :  the  satin  raiment 
came  forth,  the  shining,  the  ancient, 
the  well-kept,  the  well-wadded  :  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  worthy  wo- 
man took  that  smile  out  of  some  cun- 
ning box  on  her  scanty  toilet-table  — 
that  smile  which  she  wore  all  the 
evening  along  with  the  rest  of  her 
toilet,  and  took  out  of  her  mouth 
when  she  went  to  bed  and  to  think  — 
to  think  how  both  ends  were  to  be 
made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  ad- 
mired that  woman :  and  worthy  of 
respect  she  was  in  her  way.  She 
painted  her  face  and  grinned  at  pov- 
erty. She  laughed  and  rattled  with 
o 


226 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


care  gnawing  at  her  side.  She  had 
to  coax  the  milkman  out  of  his  hu- 
muu  kindness  :  to  jjour  od  —  his  own 
oil  —  upon  tlie  stormy  e'pider's  soul ; 
to  malt  the  butier-man :  to  tap  the 
wine-merchant :  to  mollify  the  butch- 
er: to  invent  new  pretexts  for  the 
landlord:  to  reconcile  the  lady  board- 
ers, Mrs.  General  Baynes,  let  us  say, 
and  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero,  who 
were  always  quarrelling :  to  see  that 
tlic  dinner,  when  procured,  was 
cooked  properly;  that  Fran;ois,  to 
whom  she  owed  ever  so  many  months' 
w.iges,  was  not  too  rebellious  or  in- 
toxicated; that  Auguste,  also  her 
creditor,  had  his  glass  clean  and  his 
lamps  in  order.  And  this  work  done 
and  the  hour  of  six  o'clock  arriving, 
she  had  to  carve  and  be  agreeable  to 
her  table ;  not  to  hear  the  growls  of 
the  discontented,  (and  at  what  table- 
d'hote  are  there  not  grumblers  ? )  to 
have  a  word  for  everybody  present ; 
a  smile  and  a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch 
(with  whom  there  had  been  very  like- 
ly a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning) ;  a 
remark  for  the  Colonel ;  a  polite 
phrase  for  the  General's  lady ;  and 
even  a  good  word  and  compliment  for 
sulky  Auguste,  who  just  before  din- 
ner-time had  unfolded  the  napkin  of 
mutiny  about  his  wages. 

Was  not  this  enough  work  for  a 
woman  to  do  ?  To  conduct  a  great 
house  without  sufficient  money,  and 
mikv}  soup,  fish,  roasts,  and  half  a 
dozen  entrees  out  of  wind  as  it  were  ? 
to  conjure  up  wine  in  piece  and  by 
the  dozen  ?  lo  laugh  and  joke  without 
the  least  g  lyety  (  to  receive  scorn, 
abuse,  rebuffs,  insolence,  with  gay 
good-humor  i  and  then  to  go  to 
bed  wearied  at  night,  and  have  to 
think  about  figures,  and  that  dread- 
ful, dreidful  sum  in  arithmetic, — 
given  £  5  to  pay  £  6  ?  Lady  Macl>eth 
is  supposed  to  have  been  a  resolute 
woman :  and  great,  tall,  loud,  hector- 
ing females  are  set  to  represent  the 
character.  1  say  No.  She  was  a 
weak  woman.  She  began  to  walk  in 
her  sleep,  and  blab  after  one  disagree- 
able  little   incident  liad  occurred  in 


her  house.  She  broke  down,  and  got 
all  the  j)eoi)le  away  from  her  own 
table  in  the  most  abrupt  and  clumsjr 
manner,  because  that  drivelling,  epi- 
leptic husband  of  hers  fancied  he  saw 
a  ghost.  In  Lady  Smolensk's  place 
Madame  de  Macbeth  would  have 
broken  down  in  a  week,  and  Smo- 
lensk lasted  for  years.  If  twenty  gib- 
bering ghosts  had  come  to  the  board- 
ing-house dinner,  madame  would 
huve  gone  on  carving  her  dishes,  and 
smiling  and  helping  the  live  guests, 
the  paying  guests  ;  leaving  the  dead 
guests  to  gibber  away  and  help  them- 
selves. "  My  poor  father  had  to  keep 
up  appearances,"  Phil  would  say,  re- 
counting these  things  in  after  days  ; 
"  but  how  ?  You  know  he  always 
looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hung." 
Smolensk  was  the  gayest  of  the  gay 
always.  That  widow  would  have 
tripped  up  to  her  funeral  pile  and 
kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends  with  a 
smiling  "  Bon  jour !  " 

"  Pray,  who  was  Monsieur  de 
Smolensk  ?  "  asks  a  simple  lady  who 
may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  nar- 
rative. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady !  there  was  a 
pretty  disturbance  in  the  house  when 
that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I 
promise  you,"  says  our  friend,  laugh- 
ing, as  he  recounts  his  adventures. 
And,  after  all,  what  does  it  matter  to 
Tou  and  me  and  this  story  who 
Smolensk  was  f  I  am  sure  this  poor 
lady  had  hardships  enough  in  her 
life  campaign,  and  that  Ney  himself 
could  not  have  faced  fortune  with  a 
constancy  more  hcroical. 

Well.  "  When  the  Bayneses  first 
came  to  her  house,  I  tell  you  Smo- 
lensk and  all  round  her  smiled,  and 
our  friends  thought  they  were  landed 
in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the  Champs 
of  that  name.  Madame  had  a  Car- 
rick  a  rindienne  prepared  in  compli- 
ment to  her  guests.  She  had  had 
many  Indians  in  her  establishment. 
She  adored  Indians.  N'etait  ce  la 
polygamie, —  they  were  most  estimable 
people  the  Hindus.  Surtout,  she 
adored    Indian    shawls.      That    of 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


227 


Madame  la  Gencrale  was  ravishing. 
The  company  at  Madamc's  was  pleas- 
ant. The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldcro 
was  a  dashing  woman  of  fashion  and 
respectability,  who  had  lived  in  tiie 
best  world,  —  it  was  easy  to  see  that. 
The  young  ladies'  duets  were  very 
striking.  The  Honorable  Mr.  Bol- 
dero  was  away  shooting  in  Scotland 
at  his  brother.  Lord  Strongitharm's, 
and  would  take  Gaberlunaie  Castle 
and  the  Duke's  on  his  way  south. 
Mrs.  Baynes  did  not  know  Lady  Es- 
tridge,  the  ambassadress  1  When 
the  Estridges  returned  from  Chan- 
tilly,  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.  would  be 
delighted  to  introduce  her.  "  Your 
pretty  girl's  name  is  Charlotte  ?  So 
IS  Lady  Estridge's,  —  and  very  nearly 
as  tall ; — fine  girls  the  Estridges; 
fine  long  necks,  —  large  feet,  —  but 
your  girl.  Lady  Baynes,  has  beautiful 
feet.  Lady  Baynes,  I  said  ?  Well, 
you  must  be  Lady  Baynes  soon. 
The  General  must  be  a  K.C.B.  after 
his  services.  What,  you  know  Lord 
Trim  ?  He  will,  and  must,  do  it  for 
you.  If  not,  my  brother  Strongi- 
tharm  shall."  I  have  no  doubt,  Mrs. 
Baynes  wms  greatly  elated  by  the  at 
tentions  of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sis 
ter  ;  and  looked  him  out  in  the  Peer- 
age, where  his  Lordship's  arms,  pedi- 
gree, and  residence  of  Gabcrlunzie 
Castle  are  duly  recorded.  The  Hon- 
orable Mrs.  Boldero's  daughters,  the 
Misses  Minna  and  Brenda  Boldcro, 
played  some  rattling  sonatas  on  a 
piano  which  was  a  good  deal  fatigued 
by  their  exertions,  for  the  young 
ladies'  hands  were  very  powerful. 
And  madame  said,  "  Thank  you," 
with  her  sweetest  smile  ;  and  Auguste 
Landed  about  on  a  silver  tray,  —  I 
say  silver,  so  that  the  convenances 
may  not  be  wounded,  —  well,  say 
silver  that  was  blushing  to  find  itself 
copper,  —  handed  up  on  a  tray  a 
white  drink  which  made  the  Baynes 
hoys  cry  out,  "  I  say,  mother,  what  's 
this  beastly  thing  ? "  On  which 
madame,  with  the  sweetest  smile,  ap- 
pealed to  the  company,  and  said, 
"  They  love  orgeat,  these  dear  in- 


fants !  "  and  resumed  her  piquet  with 
old  M.  Bidois, —  that  odd  old  gentle- 
man in  the  long  brown  coat,  with 
the  red  ribbon,  who  took  so  much 
snuff  and  blew  his  nose  so  often  and 
so  loudly.  One,  two,  three  rattling 
sonatas  Minna  and  Brenda  played; 
Mr.  Clancy,  of  Trinity  College,  Dub- 
lin (M.  de  Clanci,  madame  called 
him),  turning  over  the  leaves,  and 
presently-  being  persuaded  to  sing 
some  Irish  melodies  for  the  ladies.  I 
don't  think  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes 
listened  to  the  music  much.  She 
was  listening  to  another  music,  which 
she  and  Mr.  Firmin  were  performing 
together.  O,  how  pleasant  that  music 
used  to  be  !  There  was  a  sameness  in 
it,  1  dare  say,  but  still  it  was  pleasant 
to  hear  the  air  over  again.  The 
pretty  little  duet  a  quatre  mains,  where 
the  hands  cross  over,  and  hop  up  and 
down  the  keys,  and  the  heads  get  so 
close,  so  close.  O  duets,  0  re- 
grets !  Psha !  no  more  of  this.  Go 
down  stairs,  old  dotard.  Take  your 
hat  and  umbrella  and  go  walk  by  the 
sea-shore,  and  whistle  a  toothless  old 
solo.  "  These  are  our  quiet  nights," 
whispers  M.  de  Clanci  to  the  Baynes 
ladies,  when  the  evening  draws  to 
an  end.  "  Madame's  Thursdays  are, 
I  promise  ye,  much  more  fully  attend- 
ed." Good  night,  good  night.  A 
squeeze  of  a  little  hand,  a  hearty 
hand-shake  from  papa  and  mamma, 
and  Philip  is  striding  through  the 
dark  Elysian  fields  and  over  the  Place 
of  Concord  to  his  lodgings  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Or,  stay ! 
What  is  that  glowworm  gleaming  by 
the  wall  opposite  Madame  de  Smo- 
lensk's house? — a  glowworm  that 
wafts  an  aromatic  incense  and  odor? 
I  do  believe  it  is  Mr.  Philip's  cigar. 
And  he  is  watching,  watching  a 
window  by  which  a  slim  figure  fiits 
now  and  again.  Then  darkness  falls 
on  the  little  window.  The  sweet  eyes 
are  closed.  O  blessings,  blessings  be 
upon  them !  The  stars  shine  over- 
head. And  homeward  stalks  Mr. 
Firmin,  talking  to  himself,  and  bran- 
dishing a  great  stick. 


228 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smolensk 
could  sleep  as  well  as  the  people  in 
her  house.  But  care,  with  the  cold 
feet,  gets  under  the  coverlid,  and  says, 
"  Here  I  am  ;  you  know  that  bill  is 
coming  due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra 
cura !  can't  you  leave  the  poor  thing 
a  little  quiet  1  Has  n't  she  had  work 
enough  all  day  1 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVB. 

We  be:?  the  gracious  reader  to 
remeinlier  that  Mr.  Philip's  business 
at  Paris  was  only  with  a  weekly 
London  paper  as  yet ;  and  hence 
that  he  had  on  his  hands  a  great 
deal  of  leisure.  He  could  glance 
over  the  state  of  Europe ;  give  the 
latest  news  from  the  salons,  im- 
parted to  him,  I  do  believe,  for  the 
most  part,  by  some  brother  hireling 
scribes  ;  be  present  at  all  the  the- 
atres by  deputy  ;  and  smash  Louis 
Philippe  or  Messieurs  Guizot  and 
Thiers  in  a  few  easily  turned  par- 
agraphs, which  cost  but  a  very 
few  hours'  labor  to  that  bold  and 
rapid  pen.  A  wholesome  though 
humiliating  thought  it  must  be  to 
great  and  learned  public  writers, 
that  their  eloquent  sermons  are  but 
for  the  day  ;  and  that,  having  read 
what  the  philosophers  say  on  Tues- 
day or  Wednesday,  we  think  atout 
their  yesterday's  sermons  or  essays 
no  more.  A  score  of  years  hence, 
men  will  read  the  pipers  of  1861  for 
the  occurrences  narrated,  —  births, 
marriages,  b  \nkruptcies,  elections, 
murders,  deaths,  and  so  forth  ;  and 
not  for  the  leading  articles.  ''  Though 
there  were  some  of  my  letters,"  Mr. 
Philip  would  say,  in  after  times, 
"  that  I  fondly  fiincied  the  world 
would  not  willinurly  let  die.  I  wanted 
to  have  them  or  see  them  reprinted  in 
a  vohime,  but  I  could  find  no  pub- 
lisher willing  to  undertake  the  risk. 
A  fond  being,  who  fancies  there  is 
genius  in  everything  I  say  or  write. 


would  have  had  me  reprint  my  letters 
to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  but  I  was 
too  timid,  or  she,  perhaps,  was  too 
confident.  The  letters  never  were 
republished.  Let  them  pass."  They 
ham  passed.  And  he  sighs,  in  men- 
tioning this  circumstance ;  and  I 
think  tries  to  persuade  himself,  rather 
than  others,  that  he  is  an  unrecognized 
genius. 

"  And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads, 
"  I  was  in  love,  sir,  and  spending  all 
my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  I 
did  n't  do  justice  to  my  powers.  If 
I  haii  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think 
I  might  have  made  a  good  public 
writer  ;  and  that  I  had  the  stuflp  in 
me,  —  the  stuff  in  me,  sir  !  " 

'The  truth  is  that,  if  he  had  had  a 
daily  paper,  and  ten  times  as  much 
work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip 
would  have  found  means  of  pursu- 
mg  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through 
life  has  done.  The  being  whom  a 
young  man  wishes  to  see,  he  sees. 
What  business  is  superior  to  that 
of  seeing  her  ?  'T  is  a  little  Helles- 
]  pontine  matter  keeps  Lcander  from 
his  Hero  ?  He  would  die  rather  than 
not  see  her.  Had  he  s^vura  out  of 
that  difliiculty  on  that  stormy  night, 
and  carried  on  a  few  months  later, 
it  might  have  been,  "  Beloved  !  my 
cold  and  rheumatism  are  so  severe 
that  the  doctor  says  I  must  not  think 
of  cold  bathing:  at  night "  ;  or,  "  Dear- 
est !  we  have  a  party  at  tea,  and  yoa 
must  n't  expect  your  ever  fond  Lamb- 
da to*-night,"  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth.  But  in  the  heat  of  his  pas- 
sion water  could  not  stay  him  ;  tem- 
pests could  not  frighten  him  ;  and  in 
one  of  them  he  went  down,  while 
poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twinkling  and 
spending  its  best  flame  in  vain.  So 
Philip  came  from  Sestos  to  Abvdos 
daily,  —  across  one  of  <he  bridges, 
and  paying  a  halfpenny  toll  very 
likely,  —  and,  late  or  early,  poor  lit- 
tle Charlotte's  virgin  lamps  were 
lighted  in  her  eyes,  and  watching  for 
him. 

Philip  made  many  sacrifices,  mind 
you  :    sacrifices  which   all   men   are 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


229 


not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When 
Lord  Ringwood  was  in  Paris,  twice, 
thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his 
Lordship,  until  that  nobleman  smelt 
a  rat,  as  the  saying  is,  —  and  said, 
"  Well,  youngster,  I  suppose  you  are 
going  where  there  is  metal  more 
attractive.  When  you  come  to 
twelve  lustres,  my  boy,  you  'II  find 
vanity  and  vexation  in  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  a  good  dinner  bettor,  and 
cheaper,  too,  than  the  best  of  them." 
And  when  some  of  Phili])'s  rich  col- 
lege friends  met  him  in  his  exile,  and 
asked  him  to  the  "  Rocher  "  or  the 
"  Trois  Freres,"  he  would  breakaway 
from  those  banquets  ;  and  as  for 
meeting  at  those  feasts  doubtful  com- 
panions, whom  young  men  will 
sometimes  invite  to  their  entertain- 
ments, Philip  turned  from  such  with 
scorn  and  anger.  His  virtue  Mas 
loud,  and  he  proclaimed  it  loudly. 
He  expected  little  Charlotte  to  give 
him  credit  for  it,  and  told  her  of  his 
self-denial.  And  she  believed  anything 
he  said  ;  and  delighted  in  everything 
he  wrote ;  and  copied  out  his  articles 
for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  treas- 
ured his  poems  in  her  desk  of  desks  : 
and  there  never  was  in  all  Sestos,  in 
all  Abydos,  in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia 
Minoror  Asia  Major,  such  a  noble 
creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought ; 
never,  never !  I  hope,  young  ladies, 
you  may  all  have  a  Leander  on  his 
way  to  the  tower  where  the  light  of 
j-our  love  i<  burning  steadfastly.  I 
hope,  young  gentlemen,  you  have 
each  of  you  a  beacon  in  sight,  and 
may  meet  with  no  mishap  in  swim- 
ming to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regard- 
ing Mrs.  Baynes,  the  reader  has  been 
made  aware  that  the  General's  wife 
was  no  more  faultless  than  the  rest  of 
her  fellow-creatures  ;  and  having  al- 
ready candidly  informed  the  public 
that  the  writer  and  his  family  were  no 
favorites  of  this  lady,  I  have  now  the 
pleasing  duty  of  recording  my  own 
opinions  regarding /ier.  Mrs.  General 
B.  was  an  early  riser.  She  was  a  fru- 
gal woman ;  fond  of  her  young,  or, 


let  us  say,  anxious  to  provide  for  their 
maintenance  ;  and  here,  with  my 
best  comjiliments,  I  think  the  cata- 
logue of  her  good  qualities  is  ended. 
She  had  a  bad,  violent  temper  ;  a  dis.a- 
greeable  person,  attired  in  very  bad 
taste ;  a  shrieking  voice ;  and  two 
manners,  the  respectful  and  the  pat- 
ronizing, which  were  both  alike  odious. 
When  she  ordered  Eayncs  to  marry 
her,  gracious  powers  !  why  did  he 
not  run  away  7  Who  dared  first  to 
say  that  marriages  are  made  in  heav- 
en ?  We  know  that  there  are  not 
only  blunders,  but  roguery  in  the 
marriage  office.  Do  not  mistakes  oc- 
cur every  day,  and  are  not  the  wrong 
people  coupled  1  Had  heaven  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  bargain  by  which 
voung  Miss  Blushrosc  was  sold  to 
old  Mr.  Hoarfrost  ?  Did  heaven 
order  young  Miss  Tripper  to  throw 
over  poor  Tom  Sjjooner,  and  marry 
the  wealthy  Mr.  Bung  ?  You  may  as 
well  say  that  horses  arc  sold  in  heav- 
en, which,  as  you  know,  are  groomed, 
are  doctored,  are  chanted  on  to  the 
market,  and  warranted  by  dexterous 
horse-venders  as  possessing  every 
quality  of  blood,  jiace,  temper,  age. 
Against  these  Mr.  Greenhorn  has  his 
remedy  sometimes  ;  but  against  a 
mother  who  sells  you  a  warranted 
daughter,  what  remedy  is  there? 
You  have  bten  jockeyed  by  false  rep- 
resentations into  bidding  for  the  Ce- 
cilia, and  the  animal  is  yours  for  life. 
She  shies,  kicks,  stumbles,  has  an  in- 
fernal temper,  is  a  crib-biter,  —  and 
she  was  warranted  to  you  by  her 
mother  as  the  most  perfect,  good-tem- 
pered creature,  whom  the  most  timid 
might  manage !  You  have  bought 
her.  She  is  yours.  Heaven  bless 
you  !  Take  her  home,  and  be  miser- 
able for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You 
have  no  redress.  You  have  done  the 
deed.  Marriages  were  made  in  heav- 
en, you  know  ;  and  in  yours  you  were 
as  much  sold  as  Moses  Primrose  was 
when  he  bought  the  gross  of  green 
spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes 
ever  had  a  proper  sense  of  his  situa^ 


230 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


tion,  or  knew  how  miserable  he  ought 
by  riffhts  to  have  been.  He  was  not 
unclieerful  at  times ;  a  silent  man,  lik- 
iixfr  his  rubber  and  his  glass  of  wine  ; 
a  very  weak  person  in  the  common 
affairs  of  life,  as  his  best  friends  must 
own  ;  but,  as  I  have  heard,  a  very 
tiger  in  action.  "  I  know  vour  opin- 
ion of  the  General,"  Fhihp  used  to 
say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent  way. 
"  You  despise  men  who  don't  bully 
their  wives  ;  you  do,  sir  !  You  think 
the  General  weak,  I  know,  I  know. 
Other  brave  men  were  so  about  wo- 
men, as  I  dare  say  you  have  heard. 
This  man,  so  weak  at  home,  was 
mighty  on  the  war-path  ;  and  in  his 
wigwam  stre  the  scalps  of  countless 
warriors." 

"  In  his  wig  what  ?  "  say  I.  The 
truth  is,  on  his  meek  head  the  General 
wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  top-knot, 
which  looked  very  queer  and  out  of 
place  over  that  wrinkled  and  war-worn 
face. 

"  If  you  choose  to  laugh  at  your 
joke,  pray  do,"  says  Phil,  majestically. 
"  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior. 
You  prefer  a  barber's  pole.  Bon  ! 
Pass  me  the  wine.  The  veteran  whom 
I  hope  to  salute  as  father  erelong,  — 
the  soldier  of  twenty  battles  ;  —  who 
saw  my  own  brave  grandfather  die  at 
his  side,  —  die  at  Busaco,  by  George ; 
you  laugh  at  an  account  of  his  wig. 
It's  a  capital  joke."  And  here  Phil 
scowled  and  slaiiped  the  table,  and 
passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as 
though  the  death  of  his  grandfather, 
which  occurrcl  lon;r  before  Philip  wiis 
bom,  caused  him  a  very  .serious  pang 
of  grief.  Philip's  newspaper  busi- 
ness brought  him  to  London  on  oc- 
casions. I  think  it  was  on  one  of 
the.se  visits  that  we  had  our  talk 
about  General  Baynes.  And  it  was 
at  the  same  time  Philip  described  the 
boarding-house  to  us,  and  its  inmates, 
and  the  landlady,  and  the  doings 
there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as 
for  all  women  in  distress,  our  friend 
had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ; 
end  she  returned  Philip's  kindness  by 


I  being    very    good    to    Mademoiselle 
Charlotte,  and  very   forbearing  with 
j  the    General's    wife    and    his    other 
I  children.      The    appetites    of    those 
little  ones  were  frightful,  the  temper 
j  of  Madame  la  Ge'ne'rale  was  almost 
'  intolerable,    but    Charlotte    was    an 
angel,  and  the  General  was  a  mutton, 
—  a  true  mutton.    Her  own  father  had 
t  l)een  so.     The  brave  are  often  mut- 
tons at  home.     I  suspect  that,  though 
madarae     could     have     made     but 
little  pi'ofit  by  the  General's  family, 
his    monthly    payments    were    very 
welcome    to    her    meagre    little  ex- 
chequer.    "  Ah  !  if  all  my  locataires 
were  like    him !  "   sighed    the   poor 
lady.  "  That  Madame  Boldero,  whom 
the  Generaless  treats  always  as  Hon- 
orable, I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  her ! 
And  others  again  !  " 

I  never  kept  a  boarding-house,  but 
I  am  sure  there  must  be  many  pain- 
ful duties  attendant  on  that  profes- 
sion. What  can  you  do  if  a  lady 
or  gentleman  does  n't  pay  his  bill  ? 
Turn  him  or  her  out  ?  Perhaps  the 
very  thing  that  lady  or  gentleman 
would  desire.  They  go.  Those 
trunks  which  you  have  insanely  de- 
tained, and  about  which  you  have 
made  a  fight  and  a  scandal,  do  not 
contain  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of 
goods,  and  your  creditors  never  come 
back  again.  You  do  not  like  to  have 
a  row  in  a  boarding-house  any  more 
tl'.an  you  would  like  to  have  a  party 
with  scarlet  fever  in  your  best  bed- 
room. The  scarlet-fever  party  stays, 
and  the  other  Iwarders  go  away. 
What,  you  ask,  do  I  mean  by  this 
mystciy  ?  I  am  .sorry  to  have  to  give 
up  names,  and  titled  names.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Boldero  did  not  pay  her  bills.  She 
was  waiting  for  remittances,  which 
the  Honorable  Boldero  was  dreadful- 
ly remiss  in  sending.  A  dreadful 
man  !  He  was  still  at  his  Lordship's 
at  Gaberlunzie  Castle,  shooting  the 
wild  deer  and  hunting  the  roe.  And 
though  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.'s 
heart  was  in  the  Highlands,  of  course 
how  could   she   join    her  Highland 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


231 


chief  without  the  money  to  pay 
madame  ?  The  Highlands,  indeed  ! 
One  dull  day  it  came  out  that  the 
Honorahle  Boldero  was  amusing 
himself  in  the  Highlands  of  Hesse 
Homburg;  and  engaged  in  the  dan- 
gerous sport  which  is  to  he  had  in 
the  green  plains  about  Loch  Baden- 
badenoch ! 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  de- 
pravity 1  The  woman  is  a  desiderate 
and  unprincipled  adventuress  !  I 
wonder  madame  dares  to  put  me  and 
my  children  and  my  General  down 
at  table  with  such  people  as  those, 
Philip  !  "  cries  Madame  la  Gene'rale. 
"I  mean  those  OJ)po^ite, — that  wo- 
man and  her  two  daughters  who 
have  n't  paid  madame  a  shilling  for 
three  months, —  who  owes  me  five 
hundred  francs,  which  she  borrowed 
until  next  Tuesday,  expecting  a  re- 
mittance—  a  pretty  remittance  in- 
deed —  from  Lord  Stroiigitharm. 
Lord  Strongitharm,  I  dare  say ! 
And  she  pretends  to  be  most  intimate 
at  the  embassy ;  and  that  she  would 
introduce  us  there,  and  at  the  Tuiler- 
ies :  and  she  told  me  Lady  Carterton 
had  the  small-pox  in  the  house  ;  and 
when  I  said  all  ours  had  been  vac- 
cinated, and  I  did  n't  mind,  she  fobbed 
me  off  with  some  other  excuse ;  and 
it 's  my  belief  the  woman  's  a  hutn- 
bu(j.  Overhear  me !  I  don't  care  if 
she  does  overhear  me.  No.  You 
may  look  as  much  as  you  like,  my 
JJoiiomUe  Mrs.  Roldcro ;  and  I  don't 
care  if  you  do  overhear  me.  Ogoost ! 
Ponidytare  pour  le  Ge'nc'ral !  How 
tough  Madame's  hoof  is,  and  it 's 
hoof,  hoof,  hoof  every  day,  till  I  'm 
sick  of  hoof  Ogoost !  why  don't  you 
attend  to  my  children  1 "  And  so 
forth. 

I5y  this  report  of  the  wortliy 
woman's  conversation,  you  will  see 
that  the  friendship  which  had  sprung 
up  between  the  two  ladies  had  come 
to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  painful 
pecuniary  disputes  between  them  ; 
that  to  keep  a  boarding-house  can't 
btf  a  very  pleasant  occupation ;  and 
that  even  to  dine  in  a  boarding-house 


must  be  only  bad  fun  when  the  com- 
pany is  frightened  and  dull,  and  when 
there  are  tw  o  old  women  at  table  ready 
to  tling  the  dishes  at  each  other's 
fronts.  At  the  period  of  which  I 
noAv  write,  I  promise  you,  there  was 
very  little  of  the  piano-duet  business 
going  on  after  dinner.  In  the  first 
place,  everybody  knew  the  girl's 
pieces ;  and  when  they  began,  Mrs. 
General  Baynes  would  lift  up  a  voice 
louder  than  the  jingling  old  instru- 
ment, thumped  Minna  and  Brcnda 
ever  so  luudly.  "  Perfect  strangers 
to  me,  Mr.  Clancy,  I  assure  you. 
Had  I  known  her,  you  don't  suppose 
I  would  have  lent  her  the  money. 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero,  indeed ! 
Five  weeks  she  has  owed  me  five 
hundred  frongs.  Bong  swor,  Mon- 
sieur Bidois  !  Sang  song  frong  pas 
payy  encor  !  Prommy,  pas  payy  !  " 
Fancy,  I  say,  what  a  dreary  life  that 
must  have  been  at  the  select  boarding- 
house,  where  these  two  parties  were 
doing  battle  daily  after  dinner! 
Fancy,  at  the  select  soirees,  the  Gen- 
eral's lady  seizing  upon  one  guest 
after  another,  and  calling  out  her 
wrongs,  and  pointing  to  the  wrong- 
doer ;  and  poor  Madame  Smolensk, 
smirking,  and  smiling,  and  flying 
from  one  end  of  the  salon  to  the 
other,  and  thanking  M.  Pivoine  for 
his  charming  romance,  and  M. 
Brumm  for  his  admirable  perform- 
ance on  the  violoncello,  and  even 
asking  those  poor  Miss  Bolderos 
to  perform  their  duct,  —  for  her  heart 
melted  towards  them.  Not  ignorant 
of  evil,  she  had  learned  to  succor  the 
miserable.  She  knew  what  poverty 
was,  and  liad  to  coax  scowling  duns, 
and  wheedle  vulgar  creditors.  "  Te- 
nez.  Monsieur  Philippe,"  she  said, 
"  the  Gene'rale  is  too  cruel.  There  are 
others  here  who  might  complain,  and 
are  silent."  Philip  felt  all  this  ;  the 
conduct  of  his  future  mother-in-law 
filled  him  with  dismay  and  horror. 
And  some  time  after  these  remarkable 
circumstances,  he  told  me,  blushing 
as  he  spoke,  a  humiliating  secret. 
"  Do  you  know,  sir,"  says  he,  "  that 


232 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty  good 
thing  of  it  with  one  thing  or  another. 
I  did  my  work  for  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette :  and  Smith  of  the  Daily  In- 
telligencer, wanting  a  month's  holi- 
dav,  gave  me  his  letter  and  ten 
francs  a  day.  And  at  that  very  time 
I  mat  Redman,  who  had  owed  •  me 
twjnty  pounds  ever  since  we  were  at 
college,  and  who  was  just  coming 
luA  flush  from  Hombourg,  and  paid 
m3.  Well,  now.  Swear  you  won't 
tv»ll.  Swear  on  your  faith  as  a 
Chriitian  man!  With  this  money  I 
went,  sir,  privily  to  Mrs.  Boldero.  I 
svi  1  if  shj  would  pay  the  dragon,  — 
I  mjaa  Mrs.  B  lynes, —  I  would  lend 
lur  thi  money.  And  I  (//c/ lend  her 
tlij  money,  anl  the  Boldero  never 
paid  biclc  Mrs.  Baynes.  Don't 
mjntion  it.  Promise  me  you  won't 
iell  Mrs.  B  lynes.  I  never  e.xpected 
to  get  Rjd.naa's  money,  you  know, 
and  am  no  worse  off  thm  before. 
One  day  of  the  Grand^s  Eaux  we 
went  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  gave  us  the 
slip.  She  left  the  poor  girls  behind 
her  in  pledge,  who,  to  do  them  justice, 
cried  and  were  in  a  dreadful  way ; 
and  when  Mrs.  Baynes,  on  our  re- 
turn, began  shrieking  about  her 
'sang song frong,'  Madame  Smolensk 
fairly  lost  patience  for  once,  and  said, 
'  Mais,  madame,  vous  nous  fatiguez 
avec  vos  cinq  cent  francs  ' ;  on  which 
the  other  muttered  something  about 
'  Ansolong,'  but  was  briskly  taken 
up  by  her  husband,  who  said,  '  By 
George,  Eliza,  madame  is  quite  right. 
And  I  wish  the  five  hundred  francs 
were  in  the  sea.' " 

Thus,  you  understand,  if  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes  thought  some  people 
were  "  stack-up  people,"  some  people 
can  —  and  hereby  do  by  these  pres- 
ents —  pay  off  Mrs.  Baynes,  by  fur- 
nishing the  public  with  a  candid 
opinion  of  that  lady's  morals,  man- 
ners, and  character.  How  could  such 
a  shrewd  woman  be  dazzled  so  re- 
peatedly by  ranks  and  titles  1  There 
used  to  dine  at  Madame  Smolensk's 
boarding-house  a  certain  German  bar- 


on, with  a  large  finger-ring,  upon  a 
dingy  finger,  towards  whom  the  lady 
was  pleased  to  cast  the  eye  of  favor, 
and  who  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  her 
pretty  daughter ;  young  Mr.  Clancy, 
the  Irish  poet,  was  also  smitten  with 
the  charms  of  the  fair  young  lady ; 
and  this  intrepid  mother  encouraged 
both  suitors,  to  the  unspeakable  ago- 
nies of  Philip  Firmin,  who  felt  often 
that  whilst  he  was  away  at  his  work 
these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's 
house  were  near  his  charmer,  —  at 
her  side  at  lunch,  ever  handing  her 
the  cup  at  breakfast,  on  the  watch  for 
her  when  she  walked  forth  in  the  gar- 
den ;  and  I  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy 
to  have  formed  a  part  of  those  un- 
speakable sufferings  which  Philip  said 
he  endured  in  the  house  whither  he 
came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of 
her  letters  to  lier  friends  in  Queen 
Square,  London,  meekly  complained 
of  Philip's  tendency  to  jealousy. 
"  Does  he  think,  after  knowing  him, 
I  can  think  of  these  horrid  men  ? " 
she  asked.  "  I  don't  understand 
what  Mr.  Clancy  is  talking  about, 
when  he  comes  to  me  with  his  '  pomes 
and  potry ' ;  and  who  can  read  poetry 
like  Philip  himself  ?  Then  the  Ger- 
man baron  —  who  does  not  call  even 
himself  baron  :  it  is  mamma  who  will 
insist  upon  calling  him  so  —  has  such 
very  dirty  things,  and  smells  so  of 
cigars,  that  I  don't  like  to  come 
near  him.  Philip  smokes  too,  but 
his  cigars  are  quite  pleasant.  Ah, 
dear  friend,  how  could  he  ever  think 
such  men  as  these  were  to  be  put  in 
comparison  with  him  !  And  he  scolds 
so  ;  and  scowls  at  the  poor  men  in 
the  evening  when  he  comes  !  and  his 
temper  is  so  high  !  Do  say  a  word  to 
him  —  quite  cautiously  and  gently, 
you  know  —  in  behalf  of  your  fondly 
attached  and  most  happy  —  only  he 
^vill  make  me  unhappy  sometimes ', 
but  you  '11  prevent  him,  won't  you  1 
—  Charlotte  B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring 
through  the  part  of  Othello,  and  his 
poor  young  Desdemona  not  a  little 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


233 


frightened  at  his  black  humors.  Such 
sentiments  as  Mr.  Pliilip  felt  strongly, 
he  expressed  with  an  uproar.  Char- 
lotte's correspondent,  as  usual,  made 
light  of  these  little  domestic  coiiti- 
denees  and  grievances.  "  Women 
don't  dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"  she 
said.  "  It  may  be  rather  tiresome, 
but  it  is  always  a  compliment.  8ome 
Imsbands  think  so  well  of  themselves, 
that  they  can't  condescend  to  he 
jealous."  "  Yes,"  I  say,  "  women 
j)refer  to  have  tyrants  over  them.  A 
scolding  you  think  is  a  mark  of  atten- 
tion. Had  n't  you  better  adopt  the 
Russian  system  at  once,  and  go  out 
and  buy  me  a  whip,  and  present  it  to 
me  with  a  courtesy,  and  your  compli- 
ments ;  and  a  meek  prayer  tluit  I 
should  use  it."  "  Present  you  a  whip  ! 
present  you  a  goose  !  "  says  the  lady, 
who  encourages  scolding  in  othbr 
husbands,  it  seems,  but  won't  suffer  a 
word  from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  senti- 
mental hearts  on  the  marriage  of  this 
young  man  and  this  young  woman. 
Litttle  Charlotte's  heart  was  so  bent 
on  the  match,  that  it  would  break,  we 
fancied,  if  she  were  disappointed;  and 
in  her  mother's  behavior  we  felt,  from 
the  knowledge  we  had  of  the  woman's 
disposition,  there  was  a  serious  cause 
for  alarm.  Should  a  better  offer 
present  itself,  Mrs.  Baynes,  we  feared, 
would  fling  over  poor  Philip :  or  it 
was  in  reason  and  nature,  that  he 
would  come  to  a  quarrel  with  her,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  pitched  battle 
which  must  ensue  between  them,  he 
would  fire  off  expressions  mortally  in- 
jurious. Are  there  not  many  people, 
in  every  one's  acquaintance,  who,  as 
soon  as  they  have  made  a  bargain, 
repent  of  it  ?  Philip,  as  "  preserver  " 
of  General  Baynes,  in  the  first  fervor 
of  family  gratitude  for  that  act  of 
self-sacrifice  on  the  young  man's  part, 
was  very  well.  But  gratitude  wears 
out ;  or  suppose  a  woman  says,  "  It 
is  my  duty  to  my  child  to  recall  my 
word  ;  and  not  allow  her  to  fling  her- 
self away  on  a  beggar."  Suppose 
that  you  and  I,  strongly  inclined  to  do 


a  mean  action,  get  a  good,  available, 
and  moral  motive  for  it  ?  I  trembled 
for  poor  Philip's  course  of  true  love, 
and  little  Charlotte's  chances,  when 
these  surmises  crossed  my  mind. 
There  was  a  hope  still  in  the  honor 
and  gratitude  of  General  Baynes. 
//('  would  not  desert  his  young  friend 
and  benefactor.  Now  General  Baynes 
was  a  brave  man  of  war,  and  so'was 
John  of  Marlborough  a  brave  man  of 
war ;  but  it  is  certain  that  both  were 
afraid  of  their  wives. 

We  have  said  by  whose  invitation 
and  encouragement  General  Baynes 
was  induced  to  bring  his  family  to  the 
boarding-house  at  Paris  ;  the  instiga- 
tion, namely,  of  his  friend  and  com- 
panion in  arms,  the  gallant  Colonel 
Bunch.  When  the  Baynes  family 
arrived,  the  Bunches  were  on  the  steps 
of  madame's  house,  waving  a  welcome 
to  the  new-comers.  It  was,  "  Here 
we  are.  Bunch  my  boy."  "  Glad  to 
see  you,  Baynes.  Right  well  yon  're 
looking,  and  so  's  Mrs.  B."  And  the 
General  replies,  "  And  so  are  you. 
Bunch ;  and  so  do  you,  Mrs.  B." 
"  How  do,  boys  ?  How  d'you  do. 
Miss  Charlotte  ?  Come  to  show  the 
Paris  fellows  what  a  pretty  girl  is, 
hey  1  Blooming  like  arose,  Baynes  ! " 
"  1  'm  telling  the  General,"  cries  the 
Colonel  to  the  General's  lady,  "  the 
girl  's  the  very  image  of  her  mother." 
In  this  ciise  poor  Charlotte  must  have 
looked  like  a  yellow  rose,  for  Mrs. 
Baynes  was  of  a  bilious  temperament 
and  complexion,  whereas  Miss  Char- 
lotte was  as  fresh  pink  and  white  as 
—  what  shall  we  say  ?  —  as  the  very 
freshest  strawberries  mingled  with  the 
very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great 
comfort  to  one  another.  They  toddled 
down  to  Galignani's  together  daily, 
and  read  the  papers  there..  They 
went  and  looked  at  the  reviews  in  the 
Carrousel,  and  once  or  twice  to  the 
Champ  de  Mars  :  —  recognizinij  here 
and  there  the  numbers  of  the  regiments 
against  which  they  had  been  engaged 
in  the  famous  ancient  wars.  They 
did  not  brag  in  the  least  about  their 


234 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PfflLIP. 


achierements,  they  winked  and  under- 
stood each  other.'  They  got  their  old 
uniforms  out  of  their  old  boxes,  and 
took  a  voUure  de  remise,  by  Jove !  and 
went  to  be  presented  to  Louis  Phi- 
lippe. They  bouj^ht  a  catalogue,  and 
went  to  the  Louvre,  and  wagged  their 
honest  old  heads  before  the  pictures  ; 
and,  I  dare  say,  winked  and  nudged 
each  other's  brave  old  sides  at  some 
of  the  nymphs  in  the  statue  gallery. 
They  went  out  to  Versailles  with  their 
families ;  loyally  stood  treat  to  the 
ladies  at  the  restaurateur's.  (Bunch 
had  taken  down  a  memorandum  in 
his  pocket-book  from  Benyon,  who 
had  been  the  duke's  aide-de-camp  in 
the  last  campaign,  to  "  go  to  Beau- 
villier's,"  only  Beauvillier's  had  been 
shut  up  for  twenty  years. )  They  took 
their  families  and  Charlotte  to  the 
Theatre  Franpais,  to  a  tragedy ;  and 
they  had  books ;  and  they  said  it  was 
the  most  confounded  nonsense  they 
ever  saw  in  their  lives;  and  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  Bunch,  in  the  back 
of  the  box,  snored  so,  that,  though  in 
retirement,  he  created  quite  a  sensa- 
tion. "  Corneal,"  he  owns,  was  too 
much  for  him ;  give  him  Shakespeare : 
give  him  John  Kemble:  give  him 
Sirs.  Siddons  :  give  him  Mrs.  Jordan. 
But  as  for  this  sort  of  thing  ?  "I 
think  our  play  days  are  over,  Baynes, 
—  hey  ?  "  And  1  also  believe  that  Miss 
Charlotte  Biynes,  whose  knowledge 
of  the  language  was  imperfect  as  yet, 
wjis  very  much  bewildered  during  the 
tragedy,  and  could  give  but  an  imper- 
fect account  of  it.  But  then  Philip 
Firmin  was  in  the  orchestra  stalls ;  and 
had  he  not  sent  three  bouquets  for  the 
threa  ladies,  regretting  that  he  could 
not  come  to  see  somebody  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  because  it  was  his 
post  day,  and  he  must  write  his  letter 
for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  There  he 
w.is,  her  Cid  ;  her  peerless  champion  : 
and  to  give  up  father  and  mother  for 
him  f  our  little  Chimcne  thought  such 
a  sacrifice  not  too  difficult.  After 
that  dismal  attempt  at  the  theatre, 
the  experiment  was  not  repeated.  The 
old  gentlemen  preferred  their  whist  to 


those  pompous  Alexandrines  sung 
through  the  nose,  which  Colonel 
Bunch,  a  facetious  little  colonel,  used 
to  imitate,  and,  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand, very  badly. 

The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary 
amusement  was  a  game  at  cards  after 
dinner ;  and  they  compared  madame'a 
to  an  East  Indian  ship,  quarrels  and 
all.  Sarah  went  on  just  in  that  way 
on  board  the  "  Burrumpooter."  Al- 
ways rows  about  precedence,  and  the 
services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what. 
Women  always  will.  Sarah  Bunch 
went  on  in  that  way:  and  Kliza 
Baynes  also  went  on  in  that  way; 
but  I  should  think,  from  the  most 
trustworthy  information,  that  Eliza 
was  worse  than  Sarah. 

"About  any  person  with  a  title, 
that  woman  will  make  a  fool  of  her- 
self to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  re- 
marked Sarah  of  her  friend.  "  You 
remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at 
Barrackpore  about  that  little  shrimp, 
Stoney  Battersby,  because  he  was  an 
Irish  viscount's  son  1  See  how  she 
flings  herself  at  the  head  of  this  Mrs. 
Boldero,  —  with  her  airs,  and  her 
paint,  and  her  black  front!  I  can't 
bear  the  woman  !  I  know  she  has 
not  paid  madame.  I  know  she  is  no 
better  than  she  should  be  —  and  to 
see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing  her,  and 
sidling  up  to  her,  and  flattering  her; 
it 's  too  bad,  that  it  is  !  A  woman 
who  owes  ever  so  much  to  madame ! 
a  woman  who  does  n't  pay  her  washer- 
woman ! " 

"  Just  like  the  *  Burrumpooter  ' 
over  again,  my  dear,"  cries  Colonel 
Bunch.  "  You  and  Eliza  Baynes 
were  always  quarrelling,  that 's  the 
fact.  Why  did  you  ask  her  to  come 
here?  I  knew  you  would  begin 
again,  as  soon  as  you  met."  And 
the  truth  was,  that  these  ladies  were 
always  fighting  and  making  up  again. 

"  So  you  and  Mr.  Bunch  were  old 
acquaintances  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Boldero 
of  her  new  friend.  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Baynei !  I  should  hardly  have  thought 
it :  your  manners  are  so  different ! 
Yo'',r  friend,  if  I  may  be  so  free  as  to 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


235 


speak,  has  the  camp  manner.  You 
have  not  the  camp  manner  at  all. 
I  should  have  thought  you  —  excuse 
me  the  phrase,  but  I  'm  so  open,  and 
always  speak  my  mind  out  —  you 
have  n't  the  camp  manner  at  all. 
You  seem  as  if  you  were  one  of  us. 
Minna !  does  n't  Mrs.  Baynes  put  you 

in  mind  of  Lad}'  Hm '."     (The 

name  is  inaudible,  in  consequence  of 
Mrs.  Boldero's  exceeding  shyness  in 
mentioning  names,  —  but  tiie  girls  see 

the  likeness  to  dear  liady  Ilni at 

once.)  "And  when  you  bring  your 
dear  girl  to  London  you  '11  know  the 
lady  I  mean,  and  judge  for  yourself. 
I  assure  you,  1  am  not  disparaging 
you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  com- 
paring you  to  her  !  " 

And  so  the  conversation  goes  on. 
If  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  at  Tours 
chose  to  betray  secrets,  she  could  give 
extracts  from  her  sister's  letters  to 
show  how  profound  was  the  impres- 
sion created  in  Mrs.  General  Baynes's 
mind  by  the  professions  and  conver- 
sations of  the  Scotch  lady. 

"  Did  n't  the  General  shoot,  and 
love  deer-stalking?  The  dear  Gen- 
eral must  come  to  Gaberlunzie  Castle, 
wliere  she  would  promise  him  a  High- 
land welcome.  Her  brother  Strong- 
itliarm  was  the  most  amiable  of  men  ; 
adored  her  and  her  girls:  there  was 
talk  even  of  marrying  Minna  to  the 
Captain,  but  she,  for  her  part,  could 
not  endure  the  marriage  of  first-cous- 
ins. There  was  a  tradition  against 
such  marriages  in  their  family.  Of 
three  Bolderos  and  Strongitharms 
who  married  their  first-cousins,  one 
was  drowned  in  Gaberlunzie  Lake 
three  weeks  after  the  marriage ;  one 
lost  his  wife  by  a  galloping  consump- 
tion, and  died  a  monk  at  Rome  ;  and 
the  third  married  a  fortnight  before 
the  battle  of  Culloden,  where  he  was 
slain  at  the  head  of  the  Strongi- 
tharms. Mrs.  Baynes  had  no  idea  of 
the  splendor  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle; 
seventy  bedrooms  and  thirteen  com- 
pany-rooms, besides  the  picture-gal- 
lery !  In  Edinburgh,  the  Strongi- 
tharm  had  the  right  to  wear  his  bon- 


net in  the  presence  of  his  sovereign." 
"A  bonnet!  how  very  odd,  my  dear! 
But  with  ostrich  plumes,  I  dare  say 
it  may  look  well,  especially  as  the 
Highlanders  wear  frocks,  too."  "  Lord 
fetronj4itharm  had  no  house  in  Lon- 
don, having  almost  ruined  himself  in 
building  his  princely  castle  in  the 
North.  Mrs.  Baynes  must  come  there 
and  meet  their  noble  relatives  and  all 
the  Scottish  nobility."  "  Nor  do  / 
care  about  these  vanities,  my  dear, 
but  to  bring  my  sweet  Charlotte  into 
the  world  :  is  it  not  a  mother's  duty  ?  " 

Not  only  to  her  sister,  but  likewise 
to  Charlotte's  friends  of  Queen  Square, 
did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  these  delight- 
ful news.  But  this  is  in  the  first  ardor 
of  the  friendship  which  arises  between 
Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and 
before  those  unpleasant  money-dis- 
putes of  which  we  have  spoken. 

Afterwards,  when  the  two  ladies 
have  quarrelled  regarding  the  mem- 
orable "  sang  song  frong,"  I  tliink 
Mrs.  Bunch  came  round  to  Mrs. 
Boldero's  side.  "  Eliza  Baynes  is  too 
hard  on  her.  It  is  too  cruel  to  insult 
her  before  those  two  unhappy  daugh- 
ters. The  woman  is  an  odious  woman, 
and  a  vulgar  woman,  and  a  schemer, 
and  I  always  said  so.  But  to  box 
her  ears  before  her  daughters,  —  her 
honorable  friend  of  last  week  !  it 's  a 
shame  of  Eliza  !  " 

"  My  dear,  you'd  better  tell  her 
so  !  "  says  Bunch,  dryly.  "  But  if 
you  do,  tell  her  when  1  'm  out  of  the 
way,  please  ! "  And  accordingly,  one 
day  when  the  two  old  officers  return 
from  their  stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs 
the  Colonel  that  she  has  had  it  out 
with  Eliza ;  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a 
heated  face,  tells  the  General  that  she 
and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  have  quar- 
relled; and  she  is  determined  it  shall 
be  for  the  last  time.  So  that  poor 
Madame  de  Smolensk  has  to  inter- 
pose between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs. 
Boldero;  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and 
Mrs.  Bunch;  and  to  sit  surrounded 
by  glaring  eyes,  and  hissing  innuen- 
does, and  in  the  midst  of  feuds  un- 
bealable.    Of  course,  from  the  women 


236 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  quarrelling  will  spread  to  the  gen- 
tlemen. That  always  happens.  Poor 
madame  trembles.  A^ain  Bunch 
drives  his  neighbor  his  word  that  it  is 
like  the  "  Burrumpooter "  East  In- 
diaraan,  —  the  "Burrumpooter"  in 
very  bad  weather,  too. 

"  At  any  rate,  we  won't  be  lugged 
into  it,  Baynes,  my  boy  !  "  says  the 
Colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  tem- 
perament, to  his  friend. 

"  Hey,  hey !  don't  be  too  sure. 
Bunch ;  don't  be  too  sure,"  sighs  the 
other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a 
more  desponding  turn,  as,  after  a  bat- 
tle at  luncheon,  in  which  the  Amazons 
were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old 
warriors  take  their  walk  to  Galig- 
nani's. 

Towards  his  Charlotte's  relatives 
poor  Philip  was  respectful  by  duty 
and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps. 
Before  marriage,  especially,  men  are 
very  kind  to  the  relatives  of  the  be- 
loved object.  They  pay  compliments 
to  mamma;  they  listen  to  papa's 
old  stories,  and  lauijh  appositely; 
they  bring  presents  for  the  innocent 
young  ones,  and  let  the  little  brothers 
kick  their  shins.  Philip  endured  the 
juvenile  Bayneses  very  kindly :  he 
took  the  boys  to  Franconi's,  and  made 
his  conversation  as  suitable  as  he 
could  to  the  old  people.  He  was  fond 
of  the  old  General,  a  simple  and 
worthy  old  man ;  and  had,  as  we 
have  said,  a  hearty  sympathy  and 
respect  for  Madame  Smolensk,  admir- 
ing her  constancy  and  good-humor 
under  her  many  trials.  But  those 
who  have  perused  his  memoirs  arc 
aware  that  Mr.  Firmin  could  make 
himself,  on  occasions,  not  a  little  dis- 
agreeable. When  sprawling  on  a 
sofa,  engaged  in  conversation  with 
his  charmer,  he  would  not  budge 
when  other  ladies  entered  the  room. 
He  scowled  at  them,  if  he  did  not  like 
them.  He  was  not  at  the  least  trouble 
to  conceal  his  likes  or  dislikes.  He 
had  a  manner  of  fixing  his  glass  in 
his  eye,  puttini;  his  thumbs  into  the 
armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  talk- 
ing and  laughing  very  loudly  at  his 


own  jokes  or  conceits,  which  was  not 
pleasant  or  respectful  to  ladies. 

"  Your  loud  young  friend,  with  the 
cracked  boots,  is  very  mauvais  ton,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Baynes,"  Mrs.  Boldero  re- 
marked to  her  new  friend,  in  the  first 
ardor  of  their  friendship.  "  A  rela- 
tive of  Lord  Ringwood's,  is  hel 
Lord  Ringwood  is  a  very  queer  per- 
son. A  son  of  that  dreadful  Dr. 
Firmin,  who  ran  away  after  cheating 
everybody  ?  Poor  young  man  !  He 
can't  help  having  such  a  father,  as 
3'ou  say,  and  most  good,  and  kind, 
and  generous  of  you  to  say  so.  And 
the  General  and  the  Honorable  Philip 
Ringwood  were  early  companions  to- 
gether, I  dare  say.  But,  having  such 
an  unfortunate  father  as  Dr.  Firmin, 
I  think  Mr.  Firmin  might  be  a  little 
less  prononc^;  don't  you  ?  And  to  see 
him  in  cracked  boots,  sprawling  over 
the  sofas,  and  hear  him,  when  my 
loves  are  playing  their  duets,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  so  very  loud,  —  I 
confess  isn't  pleasant  to  me.  I  am 
not  used  to  that  kind  of  monde,  nor 
are  my  dear  loves.  You  are  under 
great  obligations  to  him,  and  he  has 
behaved  nobly,  you  say  ?  Of  course. 
To  get  into  your  society  an  unfor- 
tunate young  man  will  be  on  his  best 
behavior,  though  he  certainly  does 
not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us. 
But  ....  What !  that  young  man 
engaged  to  that  lovely,  innocent, 
charming  child,  your  daughter  ?  My 
dear  creature,  you  frighten  me !  A 
man,  with  such  a  father ;  and,  excuse 
me,  with  such  a  manner ;  and  with- 
out a  penny  in  the  world,  engaged  to 
Miss  Baynes  !  Goodness,  powers  ! 
It  must  never  be.  It  shall  not  be, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes.  Why,  I  have 
written  to  my  nephew  Lenox  to  come 
over,  Strongitharm's  fixvorite  son  and 
my  favorite  nephew.  I  have  told  him 
that  there  is  a  sweet  young  creature 
here,  whom  he  must  and  ought  to  see. 
How  well  that  dear  child  would  look 
presiding  at  Strongitharm  Castle? 
And  you  are  going  to  give  her  to  that 
dreadful  young  man  with  the  loud 
voice  and  the  cracked  boots,  —  that 


THE  ADVENTLTvES   OF   PHILIP. 


237 


smokv    voung    man,  —  O,    iin]io-;si- 
ble !  "'     ' 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  jiivcu  a 
very  favorable  report  of  her  uvw 
lodgers  to  tlie  other  inmates  of  her 
house ;  and  she  and  Mrs.  Boldeio 
liad  eonchided  that  all  general  otheers 
returning  from  India  were  immensely 
rich.  To  think  that  her  daugh- 
ter might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
iStrongitharm,  Baroness  Strongi- 
tliarm,  and  walk  in  a  eoronation  in 
robes,  with  a  coronet  in  her  hand ! 
Mrs.  Bayncs  yielded  in  loyalty  to  no 
woman,  but  I  fear  her  wicked  desires 
compassed  a  speedy  royal  demise,  as 
this  thought  passed  through  her 
mind,  of  the  Honorable  Lenox 
Strongitharm.  She  looked  him  out 
in  the  Peeraye,  and  found  that  young 
nobleman  designated  as  the  Captain 
of  Strongitharm.  Charlotte  might  be 
the  Honorable  Mrs.  Captain  of 
Strongitharm!  When  poor  Pliil 
stalked  in  after  dinner  that  evening 
in  his  shabby  boots  and  smoky 
paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  him  but 
a  grim  welcome.  He  went  and 
prattled  unconsciously  by  the  side  of 
his  little  Charlotte,  whose  tender 
eyes  dwelt  upon  his,  and  whose  fair 
cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes  of 
welcome.  He  prattled  away.  He 
laughed  out  loud  whilst  Minna  and 
Brenda  were  thumping  their  duet. 
"  Taisez-vous  done.  Monsieur  Phi- 
lippe," cries  madame,  putting  her  fin- 
ger to  her  lip.  The  Honorable  Mrs. 
Boldero  looked  at  dear  Mrs.  Baynes, 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Poor 
Philip !  would  he  have  laughed  so 
loudly  (and  so  rudely,  too,  as  I  own) 
had  he  known  what  was  passing  in 
the  minds  of  those  women  t  Treason 
was  passing  there  :  and  before  that 
glance  of  knowing  scorn,  shot  from 
the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero's  eyes, 
dear  Mrs.  General  Baynes  faltered. 
How  very  curt  and  dry  she  was  with 
Philip !  how  testy  with  Charlotte ! 
Poor  Philip,  knowing  that  his  charm- 
er was  in  the  power  of  her  mother, 
was  pretty  humble  to  this  dragon  ; 
and  attempted,  by  uncouth  flatteries. 


to  soothe  and  propitiate  her.  She 
liail  a  queer,  dry  humor,  and  loved 
a  joke  ;  but  Phil's  fell  very  flat  tliis 
night.  Mrs.  Baynes  received  his 
jileasantries  with  an  "  O,  indeed  ! 
She  was  sure  she  heard  one  of  the 
ehiklren  crying  in  their  nursery.  Do, 
pray,  go  and  see,  Charlotte,  what  that 
eiiild  is  crying  about."  And  away 
goes  poor  Charlotte,  having  but  dim 
presentiment  of  misfortune  as  yet. 
Was  not  mamma  often  in  an  ill 
humor ;  and  were  they  not  all  used 
to  her  scoldings  ? 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that,  up  to  this  time, 
Phili])  was  not  only  nofavoriie  with 
her,  but  was  heartily  disliked  by  that 
lady.  I  have  told  you  our  friend's 
faults.  He  was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt ; 
he  was  rude  often  :  and  often  gave 
just  cause  of  annoyance  by  his 
laughter,  his  disrespect,  and  his 
swaggering  manner.  To  those  whom 
he  liked  he  was  as  gentle  as  a  wo- 
man ;  and  treated  them  with  an 
extreme  tenderness  and  touching 
rough  respect.  But  those  persons 
about  whom  he  was  indiHierent,  he 
never  took  the  least  trouble  to  ( on- 
ciliate  or  please.  If  they  told  long 
stories,  for  example,  he  would  turn 
on  his  heel,  or  interrupt  them  i)y 
observations  of  his  own  on  .'■ome 
quite  different  subject.  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch,  then,  positively  disliked  that 
young  man,  and  I  think  had  very 
good  reasons  for  her  dislike.  As  for 
Bunch,  Bunch  said  to  Baynes,  "  Cool 
hand,  that  young  fellow ! "  and 
winked.  And  Baynes  said  to  Bunch, 
"  Queer  chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know  pretty  well.  I  ))lay  a 
club.  No  club  1  I  mark  honors 
and  two  tricks."  And  the  game 
went  on.  Clancy  hated  Philip:  a 
meek  man  whom  Firniin  had  yet 
managed  to  offend.  "  That  man," 
the  ])Ote  Clancy  remarked,  "  has  a 
manner  of  treading  on  me  corrans 
which  is  intolerable  to  me  !  " 

The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always 
putting  his  foot  on  some  other  foot, 
and  trampling  it.      And  as  for  the 


!^BKW»!"?^ 


238 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Boldcro  clan,  Mr.  Firmin  treated 
them  with  the  most  amusing  inso- 
lence, and  ignored  them  as  if  they 
were  out  of  existence  altogether.  So 
you  see  the  poor  fellow  had  not  with 
his  poverty  learned  the  least  lesson 
of  humility,  or  acquired  the  very 
earliest  rudiments  of  the  art  of 
making  friends.  I  think  his  best 
friend  in  the  house  was  its  mistress, 
Madame  Smolensk.  Mr.  Philip 
treated  her  as  an  equal :  which  mark 
of  affability  he  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  bestowing  on  all  persons.  Some 
great  people,  some  rich  people,  some 
would-be-tine  people,  he  would  patron- 
ize with  an  insufferable  audacity. 
Rank  or  wealth  do  not  seem  some- 
how to  influence  this  man,  as  they 
do  common  mortals.  He  would  tap 
a  bishop  on  the  waistcoat,  and  con- 
tradict a  duke  at  their  first  meeting. 
I  have  seen  him  walk  out  of  church 
during  a  stupid  sermon,  with  an 
audible  rem  irk  perhaps  to  that  effect, 
and  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course 
that  he  should  go.  If  the  company 
bored  him  at  dinner,  he  would  go  to 
sleep  in  the  most  unaffected  manner. 
At  home  we  were  always  kept  in  a 
pleasant  state  of  anxiety,  not  only 
by  what  he  did  and  said,  but  by  the 
idea  of  what  he  might  do  or  say  next. 
He  did  not  go  to  sleep  at  madame's 
boarding-house,  preferring  to  keep  his 
eyes  open  to  look  at  pretty  Charlotte's. 
And  were  there  ever  such  sapphires 
as  his  ?  she  thought.  And  hers  ? 
Ah !  if  they  have  tears  to  shed,  I  hope 
a  kind  fate  will  dry  them  quickly  ! 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

TKE.A.T8      OF     DANCI>fG,    DINING,  DY- 
ING. 

Old  school-boys  remember  bow, 
when  pious  ^neas  was  compelled  by 
painful  circumstances  to  quit  his 
country,  he  and  his  select  band  of 
Trojans  founded  a  new  Troy,  where 
they  landed;  raising  temples  to  the 
Trojan  gods;    building  streets  with 


Trojan  names ;  and  endeavoring  to 
the  utmost  of  their  power  to  recall 
their  beloved  native  place.  In  like 
maimer,  British  Trojans  and  French 
Trojans  take  their  Troy  every- 
where. Algiers  I  have  only  seen 
from  the  sea  ;  but  New  Orleans  and 
Leicester  Square  I  have  visited  ; 
and  have  seen  a  quaint  old  France 
still  lingering  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi  ;  a  dingy  modern  Franco 
round  that  great  Glolje  of  Mr.  Wyld's, 
which  they  say  is  coming  to  an  end. 
There  are  French  cafes,  billiards, 
estaminets,  waiters,  markers,  poor 
Frenchmen,  and  rich  Frenchmen,  in 
a  new  Paris,  —  shabby  and  dirty,  it  is 
true,  —  but  offering  the  emigrant  the 
dominos,  the  chopine,  the  petit-verre 
of  the  patrie.  And  do  not  British 
Trojans,  who  emigrate  to  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe,  take  their  Troy  with 
tham  ?  You  all  know  the  quarters 
of  Paris  wliich  swarm  with  us  Tro- 
jans. From  Peace  Street  to  the 
Arch  of  the  Star  are  collected  thou, 
sands  of  refugees  from  ouf  Iliura. 
Under  the  arcades  of  the  Rue  de  Ri- 
voli  you  meet,  at  certain  hours,  as 
many  of  our  Trojans  as  of  the  na- 
tives. In  the  Trojan  inns  of  "  Meu- 
rice,"  the  "  Louvre,"  &c.,  we  swarm. 
We  have  numerous  Anglo-Trojan 
doctors  and  apotliccaries,  who  give  us 
the  dear  pills  and  doses  of  Pergamus. 
We  go  to  Mrs.  Guerre  or  kind  Mrs. 
Colombin,  and  can  purchase  the  sand- 
wiches of  Troy,  the  pale  ale  and  sher- 
ry of  Troy,  and  the  dear,  dear  muf- 
fins of  home.  We  live  for  years,  nev- 
er speaking  any  language  but  our 
native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our  servants, 
whom  we  instruct  in  the  Trojan  way 
of  preparing  toast  for  breakfast ;  Tro- 
jan bread-sauce  for  fowls  and  par- 
tridges ;  Trojan  corned  beef,  &c.  We 
have  temples  where  we  worship  ac- 
cording to  the  Trojan  rites.  A  kind- 
ly sight  is  that  which  one  beholds  of 
a  Sunday  in  the  Elysian  fields  and 
the  St.  Honore  quarter,  of  processions 
of  English  grown  people  and  chil- 
dren, stalwart,  red-cheeked,  marching 
to  their  churches,  their  gilded  prayer- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


239 


books  in  hand  to  sing  in  a  stran- 
ger's land  the  sacred  songs  of  their 
Zion.  1  am  sure  there  are  many  Eng- 
lish in  Paris  wlio  never  speak  to  any 
native  above  the  rank  of  a  waiter  or 
shopman.  Not  long  sinee  I  w;is  lis- 
tening to  a  Frenchman  at  Folke- 
stone, speaking  English  to  the  waiters 
and  acting  as  interpreter  for  his  jjar- 
ty.  He  spokj  pretty  well  and  very 
quickly.  He  was  irresistibly  comical. 
1  wonder  how  we  maintained  our 
gravity.  And  you  and  I,  my  dear 
friend,  when  we  speak  French,  I  dare 
say  wc  are  just  as  absurd.  As  ab- 
surd !  And  why  not  ?  Don't  you  be 
discouraged,  young  fellow.  Courage, 
mon  jeune  ami !  Remember,  Trojans 
have  a  conquering  way  with  them. 
When  yEueas  landed  at  Carthage,  I 
dare  say  he  spoke  Carthaginian  with 
a  ridiculous  Trojan  accent ;  but,  for 
all  that,  poor  Dido  fell  desperately  in 
love  with  him.  Take  example  by 
the  son  of  Anchises,  my  toy.  Never 
mind  the  grammar  or  the  pronuncia- 
tion, but  tackle  the  lady,  and  speak 
your  mind  to  her  as  best  you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicointe 
de  Loisy  used  to  adopt.  He  was  fol- 
lowing a  c.ours  of  English  according 
to  the  celebrated  melhode  Jobson.  The 
cours  assembled  twice  a  week :  and 
the  Vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity, 
went  to  all  English  parties  to  which 
he  could  gain  an  introduction,  for 
the  purpose  of  acquiring  the  English 
languatre,  and  marrying  une  Anglaise. 
This  industrious  young  man  even 
went  an  Tem^Je  on  Sundays  for  the 
purpose  of  familiarizing  himself  with 
the  English  language  ;  and  as  he  sat 
under  Doctor  Murrogh  Macmanns  of 
T.  C.  D.,  a  very  eloquent  preacher  at 
P.iris  in  those  days,  the  Vicomte  ac- 
quired a  very  fine  pronunciation  At- 
tached to  the  cause  of  unfortunate 
monarchy  all  over  the  world,  the  Vi- 
comte had  fought  in  the  Spanish  Carl- 
ist  armies.  He  waltzed  well :  and 
madame  thought  his  cross  looked  nice 
at  her  parties.  Will  it  be  believed 
that  Mrs.  Greneral  Baynes  took  this 
gentleman  into  special  favor ;  talked 


with  him  at  soiree  after  soiree  ;  never 
laughed  at  his  English  ;  encouraged 
her  girl  to  waltz  with  him  (which  he 
did  to  j)crfi_ctioii,  wliereas  poor  Philip 
was  hut  a  hulking  and  clumsy  per- 
former) ;  iuiil  sl'.owed  him  the  very 
greatest  ta\or,  until  one  day,  on  };o- 
ing  into  Mr.  Bonus's,  the  house-agent 
(who  lets  lodgings,  and  sells  British 
pickles,  tea,  sherry,  and  the  like),  she 
found  the  Vicomte  occupying  a  stool 
as  clerk  in  Mr.  Bonus's  establish- 
ment, where  for  twelve  hundred  francs 
a  year  he  gave  his  invaluable  services 
during  the  day !  Mrs.  Baynes  took 
poor  madame  severely  to  task  for  ad- 
mitting such  a  man  to  her  assemblies. 
Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur 
was  a  gentleman  of  ancient  family 
who  had  met  with  misfortunes.  He 
was  earning  his  maintenance.  To 
sit  in  a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonor. 
Knowing  that  boutique  meant  shop 
and  garcon  meant  boy,  Mre.  Baynes 
made  use  of  the  words  boutique  garcon 
the  next  time  she  saw  the  Vicomte. 
The  little  man  wept  tears  of  rage  and 
mortification.  There  was  a  veiy 
painful  scene,  at  which,  thank  mercy, 
poor  Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was 
not  present.  Were  it  not  for  the 
General's  cheveiix  hlancs  (by  which 
phrase  the  Vicomte  very  kindly  desig- 
nated General  Baynes's  chestnut  top- 
knot), the  Vicomte  would  have  Jiad 
reason  from  him.  "  Charming  miss," 
he  said  to  Charlotte,  "  your  resjieet- 
able  papa  is  safe  from  my  sword  ! 
Madame  your  mamma  lias  addressed 
me  words  which  I  qualify  not.  But 
you  —  you  are  too  'aiidsome,  too 
good,  to  despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor 
gentleman  !  "  I  have  heard  the  Vi- 
comte still  dances  at  boarding-houses 
and  is  still  in  pursuit  of  an  Arighiise. 
He  must  be  a  wooer  now  almost  as 
elderly  as  the  good  Genei-al  whose 
scalp  he  respected. 

Mrs.  Baynes  was,  to  be  sure,  a 
heavy  weight  to  bear  for  poor  madame, 
but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accus- 
tomed to  many  a  burden  ;  and  if  the 
General's  wife  was  quarrelsome  and 
odious,  he,  as  madame  said,  was  as 


210 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


soft  as  a  mutton ;  and  Charlotte's 
pretty  face  and  nianner-i  were  the  ad- 
miration of  h11.  The  yellow  Miss 
Bolderos,  those  hapless  elderly  or- 
phans left  in  pawn,  might  bite  their 
lips  with  envy,  but  they  never  could 
make  ihem  as  red  as  Miss  Charlotte's 
smiling  mouth.  To  the  honor  of 
Madame  Smolensk  be  it  said  that 
never  by  word  or  hint  did  she  cause 
those  unhappy  yonng  ladies  any  need- 
less pain.  She  never  stinted  them  of 
any  meal.  No  full-priced  pensioner 
of  raadame's  could  have  breakfast, 
luncheon,  dinners  served  more  regu- 
larly. The  day  after  their  mother's 
flight,  that  good  Madime  Smolensk 
took  early  cups  of  tea  to  the  girls' 
rooms,  with  her  own  hands ;  and  I 
believe  helped  to  do  the  hair  of  one  of 
them,  and  otherwise  to  soothe  them 
in  their  misfortune.  They  could  not 
keep  tiieir  secret.  It  must  be  owned 
that  Mrs.  Baynes  never  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity of  deploring  their  situation 
and  acquainting  all  new-comers  with 
their  mothL-r's  flight  and  transgres- 
sion. But  slie  was  good-natured  to 
the  captives  in  her  grim  way  :  and  ad- 
mired madaine's  forbearance  regard- 
ing them.  The  two  old  officers  were 
now  especially  polite  to  the  poor 
things :  and  the  General  rapped  one 
of  his  boys  over  the  knuckles  for  say- 
ing to  Miss  Brenda,  "  If  your  uncle 
is  a  lord,  why  does  n't  he  give  yon 
any  money  ?  "  "  And  these  girls 
used  to  hold  their  heads  above  mine, 
and  their  mother  used  to  give  herself 
such  airs  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Baynes. 
"  And  Eliea  Baynes  used  to  flatter 
thiise  poor  girls  and  their  mother,  and 
fmcy  they  were  going  to  make  a 
woman  of  fashion  of  her  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Bunch.  "  We  all  have  our  weak- 
nesses. Lords  are  not  yours,  my 
•lear.  Faith,  I  don't  think  you  know 
one,"  saj's  stout  little  Colonel  Bunch. 
"  I  would  n't  pay  a  duchess  such 
court  as  Eliza  paid  that  woman  !  " 
cried  Sarah  ;  and  she  made  sarcastic 
inquiries  of  the  General,  whether  Eliza 
had  heard  from  her  friend,  the  Hon- 
orable Mrs.  Boldero  1      But   for  all 


this  Mrs.  Bunch  pitied  the  yonng  la 
dies,  and  I  believe  gave  them  a  little 
supply  of  coin  from  her  private  purse. 
A  word  as  to  their  pnvate  history. 
Their  mamma  became  the  terror  of 
boarding-house  keepers :  and  the  poor 
girls  practised  their  ducts  all  over  Eu- 
rope. Mrs.  Boldero's  noble  nephew, 
the  present  Strongitharm  (as  a  friend 
who  knows  the  fashionable  world  in- 
forms me)  was  victimized  by  his  own 
uncle,  and  a  most  painful  affair  oc- 
curred between  them  at  a  game  at 
"blind  hookey."  The  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero  is  living  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  Holyrood ;  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters is  happily  married  to  a  minister; 
and  the  other  to  an  apothecary  who 
was  called  in  to  attend  her  in  quinsy. 
So  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  phrase 
about  "  select  "  boarding-houses  is  a 
mere  complimentary  term  ;  and  as 
for  the  strictest  references  being  given 
and  required,  I  certainly  should  not 
lay  out  extra  money  for  printing  that 
expression  in  my  advertisement,  were 
I  going  to  set  up  an  establishment 
myself. 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  vis- 
ited Paris  from  time  to  time  ;  and. re- 
joiced in  carrying  him  off  to  "  Bo- 
rel's "  or  the  "  Trois  Freres,"  and 
hospitably  treating  him  who  had  been 
so  hospitable  in  his  time.  Yes,  thanks 
be  to  Heaven,  there  are  good  Samari- 
tans in  pretty  larj^e  numbers  in  this 
world,  and  hands  ready  enough  to 
succor  a  man  in  misfortune.  I 
could  name  two  or  three  gentlemen 
who  drive  about  in  chariots  and  look 
at  people's  tongues  and  write  queer 
figures  and  queer  Latin  on  note-paper, 
who  occultly  made  a  purse  contain- 
ing some  seven  or  ten  score  fees,  and 
sent  them  out  to  Dr.  Firmin  in  his 
banishment.  The  poor  wretch  had 
behaved  as  ill  as  might  be,  but  he  was 
without  a  penny  or  a  friend.  I  dare 
s.ay  Dr.  Goodenough,  amongst  other 
philanthropists,  put  his  hands  into 
his  pocket.  Having  heartily  disliked 
and  mistrusted  Firmin  in  prosperity, 
in  adversity  he  melted  towards  the  " 
poor  fugitive  wretch  :  he  even  could 


THE  ADVENTUP.i:S   OF  PHILIP. 


241' 


believe  that  Firniin  had  some  skill  in 
his  profession,  and  in  his  practice  was 
not  quite  a  quack. 

Philip's  old  college  and  school  cro- 
nies laughed  at  hearing  that,  now  his 
ruin  was  complete,  he  was  thinking 
about  marriage.  Such  a  plan  was  of 
a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's  known 
prudence  and  foresight.  But  they 
made  an  objection  to  his  proposed 
union,  which  had  struck  us  at  home 
pr(!\'iously.  Papa -in -law  was  well 
enough,  or  at  least  inoffensive  :  but 
ah,  ye  powers !  what  a  mother-in- 
law  was  poor  Phil  laying  up  for  his 
future  days  !  Two  or  three  of  our 
]nutual  companions  made  this  remark 
on  returning  to  work  and  chambers 
after  their  autumn  holiday.  We 
never  had  too  much  charity  for  Mrs. 
Baynes ;  and  what  Philip  told  us 
about  her  did  not  serve  to  increase 
our  regard. 

About  Ciiristmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own 
affairs  brought  him  on  a  brief  visit  to 
London.  We  were  not  jealous  that 
he  took  up  his  quarters  with  his  little 
friend  of  Thomhaugh  Street,  who 
was  contented  that  he  should  dine 
tvith  us,  provided  she  could  have  the 
pleasure  of  housing  him  under  her 
kind  shelter.     High  and  mighty  peo- 

f)le  as  we  were,  —  for  imder  what 
lumble  roofs  does  not  Vanity  hold 
her  sway  1  —  we,  who  knew  Mrs. 
Brandon's  virtues,  and  were  aware  of 
her  early  story,  would  have  conde- 
scended to  receive  her  into  our  soci- 
ety ;  but  it  was  the  little  lady  herself 
who  had  her  pride,  and  held  aloof. 
"  My  parents  did  not  give  me  the  ed- 
ucation you  have  had,  ma'am,"  Car- 
oline said  to  my  wife.  "  My  place  is 
not  here,  I  know  very  well ;  unless 
you  should  be  took  ill,  and  then, 
ma'am,  you  '11  see  that  I  will  be  glad 
enough  to  come.  Philip  can  come 
and  see  me ;  and  a  blessing  it  is  to 
me  to  set  eyes  on  him.  But  I  should 
n't  be  happy  in  your  drawing-room, 
nor  you  in  having  me.  The  dear 
children  look  surprised  at  my  way  of 
talking ;  and  no  wonder :  and  they 
laugh  sometimes  to  one  another,  God 
11 


lilcss  'em  !  I  don't  mind.  My  edu- 
cation was  not  cared  tor.  1  sciirce 
had  any  schooling  but  what  I  taught 
myself.  ]My  p:i  had  n't  the  means  of 
learning  me  much  ;  and  it  is  too  late 
to  go  to  school  at  forty  odd.  I  've 
got  all  his  stockings  and  things 
darned  ;  and  his  linen,  poor  fellow  ! 
—  beautiful  :  1  wish  they  kep'  it  as 
nice  in  Friiiu'c,  where  he  is  !  You  '11 
give  my  love  to  the  young  lady,  won't 
you,  ma'am  '.  and  oh  !  it 's  a  blessing 
to  me  to  hear  how  good  and  gentle 
she  is  !  He  has  a  high  temper,  Philip 
have  :  but  them  he  likes  can  easy 
manage  him.  You  have  been  his 
best  kind  fricTids  ;  and  so  will  she  be, 
I  trust  ;  and  they  may  be  hajipy 
though  they  're  poor.  Hut  th^y  've 
time  to  get  rich,  have  n't  they  ?  And 
it's  not  the  richest  that  's  the  happi- 
est, that  I  can  see  in  many  a  tine 
house  where  Nur.'ic  Brandon  goes  and 
has  her  eyes  ojitn,  thougli  she  don't 
say  much,  you  know."  In  this  way 
Nurse  Brandon  would  ])rattle  on  to 
us  when  siie  came  to  see  us.  She 
■would  share  our  meal,  always  thank- 
ing by  name  the  servant  who  helped 
her.  She  insisted  on  calling  our 
children  "  Miss  "  and  "  Master,"  and 
I  think  those  young  satirists  did  not 
laugh  often  or  unkindly  at  her  jiecu- 
liarities.  I  know  tlity  were  lold  that 
Nurse  Brandon  was  very  pood  ;  and 
that  she  took  care  of  her  father  in  his 
old  age ;  and  that  she  had  ])assed 
through  very  great  griefs  and  trials  ; 
aiul  that  she  had  nursed  Uncle  I'hilip 
when,  he  had  been  very  ill  indeed,  and 
when  many  peojile  would  have  been 
afraid  to  come  near  him  ;  and  that 
her  life  was  spent  in  tending  the  sick, 
and  in  doing  good  to  her  neighbor. 

One  day  during  Philiji's  stay  with 
us  we  happen  to  read  in  the  ])aper 
Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London. 
My  Lord  had  a  grand  town-house  of 
his  own  which  he  did  not  always  in- 
habit. He  liked  the  cheerfulness  of  a 
hotel  better.  Bingwood  House  was 
too  large  and  too  dismal.  He  did 
not  care  to  eat  a  solitary  mutton-chop 
in  a  great  dining-room  surrounded  by 


242 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


ghostly  images  of  dead  Ringwoods,  — 
his  dead  son,  a  boy  who  had  died  in  his 
boyhood  ;  his  dead  brother  attired  in 
the  uniform  of  his  day  (in  which  pic- 
ture there  was  no  little  resemblance 
to  Philip  Firmin,  the  Colonel's  grand- 
son) ;  Lord  llingwood's  dead  self, 
finally,  as  he  appeared  still  a  young 
man,  when  Lawrence  painted  him, 
and  when  he  was  the  companion  of 
the  Regent  and  his  friends.  "  Ah  ! 
that 's  the  fellow  I  least  like  to  look 
at,"  the  old  man  would  say,  scowling 
at  the  picture,  and  breaking  out  into 
the  old-fashioned  oaths  which  gar- 
nished many  conversations  in  his 
young  days.  "  That  fellow  could 
ride  all  day ;  and  sleep  all  night,  or 
go  without  sleep,  as  he  chose ;  and 
drink  his  four  bottles,  and  never  have 
a  headache ;  and  break  his  collar- 
bone, and  see  the  fox  killed  three 
hours  after.  That  was  once  a  man, 
as  old  Marlborough  said,  looking  at 
his  own  picture.  Now  my  doctor  's 
my  master;  my  doctor  and  the  in- 
fernal gout  over  him.  I  live  upon 
pap  and  puddens,  like  a  baby  ;  only 
I've  shed  all  my  teeth,  hang  'em.  If 
I  drink  three  glasses  of  sherry,  my 
butler  threatens  me.  You  young  fel- 
low, who  have  n't  twopence  in  your 
pocket,  by  Greorge,  I  would  like  to 
change  with  you.  Only  you  would 
n't,  hang  you,  you  would  n't.  Why, 
I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would 
change  with  me :  would  you,  Tod- 
hunter ?  —  and  you  're  about  as  fond 
of  a  great  man  as  any  fellow  I  ever 
knew.  Don't  tell  me.  You  are,  sir. 
Why,  when  I  walked  with  you  on 
Hyde  sand^  one  day,  I  said  to  that 
fellow,  '  Todhunter,  don't  you  think 
I  could  order  the  sea  to  stand  still  ? ' 
I  did.  And  you  had  never  heard  of 
King  Canute,  hanged  if  you  had,  and 
never  read  any  bonk  except  the  Stud- 
Ijook  and  Mrs.  Glasse  s  Cookery, 
hanged  if  you  did."  Such  remarks 
and  conversations  of  his  relative  has 
Philip  reported  to  me.  Two  or  three 
men  about  town  had  very  good  imi- 
tations of  this  toothless,  growling, 
blasphemous  old  cynic.  He  was  splen- 


did and  penurious  ;  violent  and  eaa 
ily  led  ;  surrounded  by  flatterers  and 
utterly  lonely.  He  had  old-world  no- 
tions, which,  I  believe,  have  jjassed 
out  of  the  maimers  of  great  folks 
now.  He  thought  it  beneath  him  to 
travel  by  railway,  and  his  post-chaiso 
was  one  of  the  last  on  the  road.  The 
tide  rolled  on  in  spite  of  this  old  Ca- 
nute, and  has  long  since  rolled  over 
him  and  his  post-chaise.  Why,  al- 
most all  his  imitators  are  actutrily 
dead ;  and  only  this  year,  when  old 
Jack  Mummers  gave  an  imitation  of 
him  at  "Bays';  "  (where  Jack's  mim- 
icry used  to  be  received  with  shouts 
of  laughter  but  a  few  years  since), 
there  was  a  dismal  silence  in  the  cof- 
fee-room, except  from  two  or  three 
young  men  at  a  near  table,  who  said, 
"  What  is  the  old  fool  mumbling  and 
swearing  at  now?  An  imitation  of 
Lord  Ringwood,  and  who  was  he  ?  " 
So  our  names  pass  away,  and  are  for- 
gotten :  and  the  tallest  statues,  do 
not  the  sands  of  time  accumulate  and 
overwhelm  them  ?  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten my  Lord  ;  any  more  than  I  have 
forgotten  the  cock  of  my  school,  about 
whom,  perhaps,  you  don't  care  to 
hear.  I  see  my  Lord's  bald  head, 
and  hooked  beak,  and  bushy  eye- 
brows, and  tall  velvet  collar,  and 
brass  buttons,  and  great  black  mouth, 
and  trembling  hand,  and  trembling 
parasites  around  him,  and  I  can  hear 
his  voice,  and  great  oaths,  and  laugh- 
ter. You  parasites  of  to-day  are 
bowing  to  other  great  people ;  and 
this  great  one,  who  was  alive  only 
yesterday,  is  as  dead  as  George  IV. 
or  Nebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we  happen  to  read  that 
Philip's  noble  relative  Lord  Ring- 
wood   has     arrived     at  Hotel, 

whilst  Philip  is  staying  with  us  ;  and 
I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go 
and  wait  upon  his  Lordship.  He  had 
been  very  kind  at  Paris :  he  had  evi- 
dently taken  a  liking  to  Philip. 
Fii-min  ought  to  go  and  see  him. 
Who  knows  ?  Lord  Ringwood 
might  be  inclined  to  do  something  for 
his  brother's  grandson. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


243 


This  was  just  the  point  which  any 
one  who  knew  Philip  should  have 
hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try 
and  make  him  bow  and  smile  on  a 
great  man  with  a  view  to  future  fa- 
vors was  to  demand  the  impossil}le 
from  Firmin.  The  king's  men  may 
lead  the  king's  horses  to  the  water, 
but  the  king  himself  can't  make  them 
drink.  I  own  that  I  came  back  to 
the  subject,  and  urged  it  repeatedly 
on  my  friend.  "I  have  been,"  said 
Philip  sulkily.  "  I  have  left  a  card 
upon  him.  If  he  wants  me,  he  can 
send  to  No.  120  Queen  Square,  West- 
minster, my  present  hotel.  But  if 
you  think  he  will  give  me  anything 
beyond  a  dinner,  I  tell  you  you  are 
mistaken." 

We  dined  that  day  with  Philip's 
employer,  worthy  Mr.  Mugford,  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  who  was  pro- 
fuse in  his  hospitalities,  and  especial- 
ly gracious  to  Philip.  Mugford  was 
pleased  with  Firmin's  letters ;  and 
you  may  be  sure  that  severer  critics 
did  not  contradict  their  friend's  good- 
natured  patron.  We  drove  to  the 
suburban  villa  at  Hampstead,  and 
steaming  odors  of  soup,  mutton, 
onions,  rushed  out  into  the  hall  to 
give  us  welcome,  and  to  warn  us  of 
the  good  cheer  in  store  for  the  party. 
This  was  not  one  of  Mugford's  days 
for  countermanding  side-dishes,  I 
promise  you.  Men  in  black  with 
noble  white-cotton  gloves  were  in 
waiting  to  receive  us  ;  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford, in  a  rich  blue  satin  and  feathers, 
a  profusion  of  flounces,  laces,  mara- 
bouts, jewels,  and  eau-de-Cologne, 
rose  to  welcome  us  from  a  stately 
sofa,  where  she  sat  surrounded  by 
her  children.  These,  too,  were  in 
brilliant  dresses,  with  shining  new- 
combed  hair.  The  ladies,  of  course, 
instantly  began  to  talk  about  their 
children,  and  my  wife's  unfeigned  ad- 
miration for  Mrs.  Mugford's  last  baby 
I  think  won  that  worthy  lady's  good- 
will at  once.  I  made  some  remark 
reganiing  one  of  the  boys  as  being 
the  picture  of  his  father,  which  was 
not  lucky.     I  don't  know  why,  but 


I  have  it  from  her  husband's  own 
admission,  that  Mrs.  Mugford  alwaj-s 
thinks  I  am  "  chaffing  "  her.  One  of 
the  boys  frankly  informed  me  tliere 
was  goose  for  dinner ;  and  when  a 
cheerful  cloop  was  heard  from  a 
neighboring  room,  told  me  that  was  Pa 
drawing  the  corks,  ^^'hy  should  Mrs. 
Mugford  reprove  the  ou'tspoken  child 
and  say,  "  James,  hold  your  tongue, 
do  now  1  "  Better  wine  than  was 
poured  forth,  when  those  corks  were 
drawn,  never  flowed  from  bottle.  —  I 
say,  I  never  saw  better  wine  nor 
more  bottles.  If  ever  a  tabic  may  be 
said  to  have  groaned,  that  expression 
might  with  justice  Le  a]i]i]ied  to  Mug- 
ford's mahogany.  Talbot  Twysden 
would  have  feasted  forty  ])Cople  with 
the  meal  here  provided  for  eight  by 
our  most  hospitable  entertainer. 
Thorgh  Mi;gfbrd's  editor  was  pres- 
ent, who  thinks  himself  a  very  fine 
fellow,  I  assure  you,  but  whose  name 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  divulge,  all  the 
liouors  of  the  entertainment  were  for 
the  Pan's  Corrtspohikvl ,  who  was 
specially  requested  to  take  Mrs.  M. 
to  dinner.  As  an  earl's  grand- 
nephew,  and  a  lord's  great-grandson, 
of  course  we  feit  that  this  place  of 
honor  was  Firmin's  right.  IIoav  Mrs. 
Mugford  pressed  him  to  eat!  She 
carved,  —  I  am  very  glad  she  would 
not  let  Philip  carve  for  her,  for  be 
might  have  sent  tlie  goose  into  her 
lap,  —  she  carved,  1  say,  and  I  really 
think  she  gave  him  more  stufhng  than 
to  any  of  us,  but  that  may  have  been 
mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions  to 
Lord  liingMood  were  repeatedly  niiide 
during  dinner.  "Lord  P.  has  come 
to  town,  Mr.  F.,  I  perceiAC,"  says 
Mugford,  winking.  "  You  've  been 
to  see  him,  of  course  ?  "  Mr.  Firmin 
glared  at  me  very  fiercely,  he  liad  to 
own  he  had  been  to  call  on  Lord 
Kingwood.  Mugford  led  the  conver- 
sation to  the  noble  lord  so  freipiently 
that  Philip  madly  kicked  my  shins 
under  the  table.  I  don't  know  how 
many  times  I  had  to  suffer  from  that 
foot  which  in  its  time  has  trampled 
on  so  many  persons  :  a  kick  for  each 


244 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


time  Lonl  Ringwood's  name,  houses, 
parks,  projHjrties,  were  mentioned 
was  a  frightful  allowance.  Mrs. 
Mugford  would  say,  "May  I  assist 
yo.i  to  a  little  pheasant,  Mr.  Firmin  ? 
I  dare  say  they  are  not  as  good  as 
Lord  Ringwood's"  (a  kick  from 
Philip)  ;  or  Mugford  would  exclaim, 
"  Mr.  F.,  try  that  'ock  !  Lord  Ring- 
wood  has  n  t  better  wine  than  that." 
(Dreadful  punishment  upon  my  tibia 
under  the  table.)  "John!  Two 
'ocks,  me  and  Mr.  Firmin.  Join  us, 
Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth.  And  after 
dinner,  to  the  ladies, — as  my  wife, 
who  betrayed  their  mysteries,  in- 
formed me,  —  Mrs.  Mugford 's  conver- 
sation was  incessant  regarding  the 
Ringwood  family  and  Firmin's  rela- 
tionship to  that  noble  house.  The 
meeting  of  the  old  lord  and  Firmin  in 
Paris  was  discussed  with  immense 
interest.  "  His  Lordship  called  him 
Philip  most  affable  !  he  was  very 
fond  of  Mr.  Firmin."  A  little  bird 
had  told  Mrs.  Mugford  that  some- 
body else  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Fir- 
min. She  hoped  it  would  be  a 
match,  and  that  his  Lordship  would 
do  the  handsome  thing  by  his  iwphew. 
What  ?  My  wife  wondered  that  Mrs. 
Mugford  should  know  about  Philip's 
affairs  ?  (and  wonder  indeed  she  did.) 
A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  M.,  a 
friend  of  both  ladies,  that  dear,  good 
little  nurse  Brandon,  who  was  en- 
gaged —  and  here  the  conversation 
went  off  into  mysteries  which  1  cer- 
tainly shall  not  r^iveal.  Suffice  it 
that  Mrs.  Mugford  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most 
constant  patrons,  —  or  might  I  be 
permitted  to  say  matrons  1  —  and  had 
received  a  most  favorable  report  of  us 
from  the  little  nurse.  And  here  Mrs. 
Pundcnnis  gave  a  verbatim  report  not 
only  of  our  hostess's  speech,  but  of 
her  manner  and  accent.  "  Yes, 
ma'am,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  to  Mrs. 
Pendcnnis,  "  our  friend  Mrs.  B.  has 
told  me  of  a  ceitaln  gentleman  whose 
na;ne  shall  be  nameless.  His  manner 
is  cold,  not  to  say  'aughty.  He 
seems  to  be  laughing  at  people  some- 


times, —  don't  say  No ;  I  saw  him 
once  or  twice  at  dinner,  both  him  and 
Mr.  Firmin.  But  he  is  a  true  friend, 
Mrs.  Braudon  says  he  is.  And  wheit 
you  know  him,  his  heart  is  good." 
Is  it  ?  Amen.  A  distinguished 
writer  has  composed,  in  not  very  late 
days,  a  comedy  of  which  the  cheerful 
moral  is,  that  we  are  "  not  so  bad  as 
we  seem."  Are  n't  we  ?  Amen, 
again.  Give  us  thy  hearty  hand, 
lago !  Tartuffe,  how  the  world  has 
been  mistaken  in  you  !  Macbeth !  put 
that  little  affair  of  the  murder  out  of 
your  mind.  It  was  a  momentary 
weakness ;  and  who  is  not  weak  at 
times  ?  Blilil,  a  more  maligned  man 
than  you  does  not  exist !  O  human- 
ity! how  we  have  been  mistaken  jn 
you !  Let  us  expunge  the  vulgar 
expression  "  miserable  sinners  "  out 
of  all  prayer-books  ;  open  the  port- 
holes of  all  hulks  ;  break  the  chains 
of  all  convicts ;  and  unlock  the  boxes 
of  all  spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  en- 
tertainment on  our  return  home,  I 
improved  the  occasion  with  Philip ; 
I  pointed  out  the  reasonableness  of 
the  hopes  which  he  might  entertain 
of  help  from  his  wealthy  kinsman, 
and  actually  forced  him  to  promise  to 
wait  upon  my  Lord  the  next  day. 
Now,  when  Philij)  Firmin  did  a  thing 
against  his  will,  he  did  it  with  a  bad 
grace.  When  he  is  not  pleased, 
he  does  not  pretend  to  be  happy ; 
and  when  he  is  sulky,  Mr.  Firmin 
i^  a  very  disagreeable  companion. 
Though  he  never  once  reproached  me 
afterwards  with  what  happened,  I 
own  that  I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of 
conscience  since.  If  I  had  not  sent 
him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand- 
uncle,  what  occurred  might  never, 
perhaps,  have  occurred  at  all.  I 
acted  for  tiie  best,  and  that  I  aver ; 
however  I  may  grieve  for  the  conse- 
quences which  ensued  when  the  poor 
fellow  followed  my  advice. 

If  Philip  held  aloof  from  Ix)rd  Ring- 
wood  in  London,  you  may  be  sure 
Philip's  dear  cousins  were  in  waiting 
on  his  Lordship,  and  never  lost  an  op- 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


245 


portunity  of  showing  their  respectful  \ 
sympathy.  Was  Lord  Kingwood  ail- 
ing ?  Mr.  Twysden,  or  Mrs.  Twys-  i 
den,  or  the  dear  girls,  or  Ring  wood  ; 
their  brother,  were  daily  in  his  Lord- 
ship's antechamber,  asking  for  news 
of  his  health.  They  bent  down  re- 
spectfully before  Lord  Ringwood's  ma- 
jor-domo. They  would  have  given 
him  money,  as  they  always  averred, 
only  what  sum  could  they  give  to  such 
a  man  as  Rudge  I  They  actually  of- 
fered to  bribe  Mr.  Rudge  with  their 
wine,  over  which  he  made  horrible 
faces.  They  fawned  and  smiled  before 
him  always.  I  should  like  to  have  seen 
that  calm  Mrs.  Twysden,  that  serene, 
high-bred  woman,  who  would  cut  her 
dearest  friend  if  misfortune  befell  her, 
or  the  world  turned  its  back; — I 
should  like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see 
her  in  my  mind's  eye,  simpering  and 
coaxing,  and  wheedling  this  footman. 
She  made  cheap  presents  to  Mr. 
Rudge :  she  smiled  on  him  and  asked 
after  his  health.  And  of  course  Tal- 
bot Twysden  flattered  him  too  in  Tal- 
bot's jolly  way.  It  was  a  wink,  and 
nod,  and  a  hearty  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 
—  and  (after  due  inquiries  made  and 
answered  about  his  Lordship)  it  would 
be,  "  Rudge  !  I  think  my  housekeeper 
has  a  good  glass  of  port  wine  in  her 
room,  if  you  happen  to  be  passing  that 
way,  and  my  Lord  don't  want  you  ! " 
And  with  a  grave  courtesy,  I  can  fan- 
cy Mr.  Rudge  bowing  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Twysden,  and  thanking  them,  and  de- 
scending to  Mrs.  Blenkinsop's  skinny 
room  where  the  port-wine  is  ready, — 
and  if  Mr.  Rudge  and  Mrs.  Blenkin- 
sop  are  confidential,  I  can  fancy  their 
talking  over  the  characters  and  pecu- 
liarities of  the  folks  up  stairs.  Servants 
sometimes  actually  do ;  and  if  master 
and  mistress  are  humbugs,  these 
wretched  menials  sometimes  find  them 
out. 

Now,  no  duke  could  be  more  lord- 
ly and  condescending  in  his  bearing 
than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  towards  the 
menial  throng.  In  those  days,  when 
he  had  money  in  his  pockets,  he  gave 
Mr.  Rudge  out  of  his  plenty  ;  and  the 


man  remembered  his  generosity  when 
he  was  jioor  ;  and  declared  —  in  a  se- 
lect society,  and  in  the  company  of  the 
relative  of  a  ])erson  from  whom  I  have 
the  iutbrmation  — declared  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Captain  Gaiin  at  the  "  Admiral 
B-ng  Club  "  in  fact,  that  Mr.  HcfF 
was  always  a  swell  ;  but  since  he  was 
done,  he,  Rudge,  "  was  blest  if  that 
young  chap  warn't  a  greater  swell 
than  hcver."  And  Re.dge  actually 
liked  this  poor  young  lellow  better 
than  the  family  in  Beaunash  Street, 
whom  Mr.  R. "pronounced  to  be  "a 
shabby  lot."  And  in  iact  ii  was  Hudge 
as  well  as  myself,  who  advised  that 
Philip  should  see  his  Lordship. 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  sec- 
ond visit,  Mr.  Rudge  said,  "  My  Lord 
will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.  He  has  been 
speaking  of  you.  He's  very  unwell. 
He  's  going  to  have  a  fit  of  the  gout, 
I  think.  I  '11  tell  him  you  are  here." 
And  coming  back  to  Philip,  after  a 
brief  disappearance,  and  with  rather  a 
scared  face,  he  repeated  the  permission 
to  enter,  and  again  cautioned  him,  say- 
ing, that  "  my  Lord  was  very  queer." 

in  fact,  as  we  learned  afterwards, 
through  the  channel  previously  indi- 
cated, my  Lord,  when  he  heard  that 
Philip  had  called,  cried,  "  He  has,  has 
he  ?  Hang  him,  send  him  in  "  ;  us- 
ing, I  am  constrained  to  say,  in  place 
of  the  monosyllable  "  hang,"  a  much 
stronger  expression. 

"  O,  it 's  you,  is  it  1  "  says  my  Lord. 
"  You  have  been  in  London  ever  so 
long.  Twysden  told  me  of  you  yes- 
terday." 

"I  have  called  before,  sir,"  said 
Philip,  very  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  face  to  call 
at  all,  sir  !  "  cries  the  old  man,  glaring 
at  Philip.  His  Lordship's  counte- 
nance was  ofagambogc  color:  his  no' 
ble  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  starting ; 
his  voice,  always  very  harsh  and  stri' 
dent,  was  now  specially  uiqilcasant; 
and  from  the  crater  of  his  mouth,  sho^ 
loud  exploding  oaths. 

"  Face,  my  Lord  1  "  says  Philip, 
still  very  meek. 

"  Yes,  if  you  call  that  a  face  whi^b 


246 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PfflLIP. 


is  covered  over  with  hair  like  a  ba- 
boon!" growled  my  Lord,  showing 
his  tusks.  "  Twysden  was  here  last 
night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty  news 
about  you." 

Philip  blushed  ;  he  knew  what  the 
news  most  likely  w^ould  be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a 
pauper,  by  George,  and  livin^'  by 
breaking  stones  in  the  street, —  you 
have  been  such  an  infernal,  drivelling, 
hanged  fool,  as  to  engage  yourself  to 
another  pauper ! " 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red  ; 
and  spoke  slowly  :  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, my  Lord,  you  said  —  " 

"I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool, 
sir ! "  roared  the  old  man ;  "  can't 
you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your 
family,  my  Lord,"  says  Philip,  rising 
up.  In  a  quarrel,  he  would  some- 
times lose  his  temper,  and  speak  out 
his  mind  ;  or  sometimes,  and  then  he 
was  most  dangerous,  he  would  be 
especially  calm  and  Grandisonian. 

"  Some  hanged  adventurer,  think- 
ing you  were  to  get  money  from  me, 
has  hooked  vou  for  his  daughter,  has 
he  ? " 

"  I  have  engaged  myself  to  a 
young  lady,  and  I  am  the  poorer  of 
the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"  She  thinks  you  will  get  money 
from  me,"  continues  his  Lordship. 

"Does  she?  I  never  did!  "  replied 
Philip. 

"  By  Heaven,  you  sha'  n't,  unless 
you  give  up  this  rubbish." 

"  I  sha'  n't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  I 
shall  do  without  the  money,"  said 
Mr.  Firmin  very  boldly. 

"  Go  to  Tartarus ! "  screamed  the 
old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us, "  I  said '  Se- 
nifnes  priores,  my  Lord,'  and  turned  on 
my  heel.  So  you  see  if  he  was  going 
to  leave  me  something,  and  he  nearly 
said  he  was,  that  chance  is  passed 
now,  and  I  have  made  a  pretty  morn- 
ing's work."  And  a  pretty  morn- 
ing's work  it  was  :  and  it  was  I  who 
had  set  him  upon  it!  My  brave 
X^hilip  not  only  did  not  rebuke  me 


for  having  sent  him  on  this  errand, 
but  took  the  blame  of  the  business  on 
himself.  "  Since  I  have  been  en- 
gaged," he  said,  "I  am  growing 
dreadfully  avaricious,  and  am  almost 
as  sordid  about  money  as  those  Twys- 
dens.  I  cringed  to  that  old  man :  I 
crawled  before  his  gouty  feet.  Well, 
I  could  crawl  from  here  to  Saint 
James's  Palace  to  get  some  money 
for  my  little  Charlotte."  Philip 
cringe  and  crawl !  If  there  were  no 
posture-masters  more  supple  than 
Philip  Firmin,  kotowing  would  be  a 
lost  art,  like  the  Menuet  de  la  C'our, 
But  fear  not,  ye  great  !•  Men's  backs 
were  made  to  bend,  and  the  race  of 
parasites  is  still  in  good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his 
brief  inteniew  with  Lord  Ringwood 
had  begun  and  ended,  I  think  those 
who  counselled  Philip  to  wait  upon 
his  grand-uncle  felt  rather  ashamed 
of  their  worldly  wisdom  and  the  ad- 
vice which  they  had  given.  We 
ought  to  have  known  our  Huron 
sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it  was  a 
dangerous  experiment  to  set  him  tow- 
ing in  lords  antechambers.  Were 
not  his  elbows  sure  to  break  some 
courtly  china,  his  feet  to  trample  and 
tear  some  lace  train  ?  So  all  the 
good  we  had  done  was  to  occasion  a 
quarrel  between  him  and  his  patron. 
Lord  Ringwood  avowed  that  he  had 
intended  to  leave  Piiilip  money  ;  and 
by  thrusting  the  poor  fellow  into  the 
old  nobleman's  sick-chamber,  we  had 
occasioned  a  quarrel  between  the 
relatives,  who  parted  with  mutual 
threats  and  anger.  "  0  dear  me  !  " 
I  groaned  in  connubial  colloquies. 
"  Let  us  get  him  away.  He  will  be 
boxing  Mugford's  ears  next,  and  tell- 
ing Mrs.  Mugford  that  she  is  vulgar, 
and  a  bore."  He  was  eager  to  get 
back  to  his  work,  or  rather  to  his 
lady-love  at  Paris.  We  did  not  try 
'  to  detain  him.  For  fear  of  further 
i  accidents  we  were  rather  anxious  that 
he  should  be  gone.  Crestfallen  and 
sad,  I  accompanied  him  to  the  Bou- 
logne boat.  He  paid  for  his  place  ia 
the  second  cabin,  and  stoutly  bade  ua 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


247 


adieu.  A  rough  night :  a  wet,  slip- 
pery deck  :  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fellow- 
passengers  :  and  poor  Philip  in  the 
midst  of  them  in  a  thin  cloak,  his 
yellow  hair  and  beard  blowing  about  ■ 
I  see  the  steamer  now,  and  left  her 
■with  I  know  not  what  feelings  of  con- 
trition and  shame.  Why  had  I  sent 
Philip  to  call  upon  that  savage,  over- 
bearing old  patron  of  his  '!  Why 
compelled  him  to  that  bootless  act 
of  submission  ?  Lord  Kingwood's 
brutalities  were  matters  of  common 
notoriety.  A  wicked,  dissolute,  cyni- 
cal old  man  :  and  we  must  try  to 
make  friends  with  this  mammon  of 
unrighteousness,  and  set  ]XK)r  Philip 
to  bow  before  him  and  Hatter  him  ! 
Ah,  mea  culpa,  mea  culpa .'  The  wind 
blew  hard  that  winter  night,  and 
many  tiles  and  chimney-pots  blew 
down  :  and  as  I  tliought  of  poor 
Philip  tossing  in  the  frowzy  second- 
cabin,  I  rolled  about  my  own  bed  very 
uneasily. 

I  looked  into  "  Bays's  Club  "  the 
day  after,  and  there  fell  on  both  the 
Twysdcns.  The  parasite  of  a  father 
was  clinging  to  the  button  of  a  great 
man  when  I  entered  :  the  little  reptile 
of  a  son  came  to  the  club  in  Captain 
Woolcomb's  brougham,  and  in  that 
distinguished  mulatto  officer's  compa- 
ny. They  looked  at  me  in  a  peculiar 
way.  I  was  sure  they  did.  Talbot 
Twysden,  pouring  his  loud,  braggart 
talk  in  the  ear  of  poor  Lord  Lepel, 
eyed  me  with  a  glance  of  triumph, 
and  talked  and  swaggered  so  that  I 
should  hear.  Ringwood  Twysden 
and  Woolcomb,  drinking  absinthe  to 
whet  their  noble  appetites,  exchanged 
glances  and  grins.  Woolcomb's  eyes 
were  of  the  color  of  the  absinthe  he 
swallowed.  I  did  not  see  that  Twys- 
den tore  off  one  of  Lord  Lepel's  but- 
tons, but  that  nobleman,  with  a  scared 
countenance,  moved  away  rapidly 
from  his  little  persecutor.  "  Hang 
him,  throw  him  over,  and  come  to 
me  !  "  I  heard  the  generous  Twysden 
say.  "  I  expect  Ringwood  and  one 
or  two  mors."  At  this  proposition, 
Lord  Lepel,  »»■  a  tremulous  way,  mut- 


tered that  he  could  not  break  his  en- 
gagement, and  fled  out  of  the  club. 

Twysden's  dinners,  the  polite  read- 
er has  been  previously  informed, 
were  notorious ;  and  he  constantly 
bragged  of  having  the  company  of 
Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  hap- 
pened that  on  this  very  evening,  Lord 
Ringwood,  with  three  of  his  follow- 
ers, henchmen,  or  Icd-captains,  dined 
at  Bays's  club,  being  determined  to 
sec  a  pantomime  in  which  a  very 
pretty  young  Columbine  figured : 
and  some  one  in  the  house  joked  with 
his  Lordship,  and  said,  "  Why,  you 
are  going  to  dine  with  Tall)ot  Twys- 
den. He  said,  just  now,  that  he  ex- 
pected you." 

"Did  he?"  said  his  Lordship, 
"  Then  Tallxjt  Twy.-;den  told  a  hanged 
lie  ! "  And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  in- 
formant, remembered  these  remark- 
able words,  because  of  a  circumstance 
which  now  almost  immediately  fol- 
lowed. 

A  very  few  days  after  Philip's  de- 
parture, our  friend,  the  Little  Sister, 
came  to  us  at  our  breakfast-table, 
wearing  an  expression  of  much 
trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little 
f;ice ;  the  causes  of  which  sorrow  she 
explained  to  us,  as  soon  as  our  chil- 
dren had  gone  away  to  their  school- 
room. Amongst  Mrs.  Brandon's 
friends,  and  one  of  her  father's  con- 
stant companions,  was  the  worthy 
Mr.  Ridley,  father  of  the  celebrated 
painter  of  that  name,  who  was  him- 
self of  much  too  honorable  and  noble 
a  nature  to  be  ashamed  of  his  humble 
paternal  origin.  Companionship  be- 
tween father  and  son  could  not  be 
very  close  or  intimate ;  especially  as 
in  the  younger  Ridley's  boyhood,  his 
father,  who  knew  notliing  of  the  fine 
arts,  had  looked  upon  the  child  as 
a  sickly,  half-witted  creature,  who 
would  be  to  his  parents  but  a  grief 
and  a  burden.  But  when  J.  J.  Rid- 
ley, Esq.,  began  to  attain  eminence  in 
his  profession,  his  father's  eyes  were 
opened ;  in  place  of  neglect  and  con- 
tempt, he  looked  up  to  his  boy  with  a 
sincere,  naive  admiration,  and  often. 


248 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


with  tears,  has  narrated  the  pride  and  ; 
pleasure  which   he   felt  on   the  day  , 
when  he  waited   on   John   James  at  | 
his  master  Lord  Todniordeu's  table.  1 
Kidley  senior  now  felt  that  he  had  ! 
been  uukind  and  unjust  to  his  boy  in 
tlie  latter's   early  days,  and  with  a 
very  touehinj^  humility  the  old  man 
acknowledged   his  previous  injustice, 
anl  tri^'d  to  atone  for  it  by  present 
respect  and  affection. 

Tlioiijjfi  fondness  for  his  son,  and 
deliirht  in  the  company  of  Captain 
Gann,  often  drew  Mr.  Ridley  to 
Tliornhanj^h  Street,  and  to  the  "'Ad- 
miral Hyng"  Club,  of  which  both 
were  leading  members,  Ridley  senior 
belonged  to  other  clubs  at  the  West 
End,  where  Lord  I'odmorden's  butler 
consorted  with  the  confidential  but- 
lers of  others  of  the  nobility  :  and  I 
am  informed  that  in  those  clubs  Rid- 
ley continued  to  be  called  "  To<lmor- 
den"  long  after  Ills  connection  with 
that  venerable  nobleman  had  ceased. 
He  continued  to  be  called  Lord  Tod- 
morden,  in  fact,  just  as  Lord  Popin- 
jay is  still  called  i)y  his  old  friends 
Popinjay,  though  his  father  is  dead, 
and  Popinjay,  as  everybody  knows,  is 
at  present  Earl  of  Pintado.  j 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order,  j 
Lord  Todniorden's   man  was  in  the  i 
constant  habit  of  meeting  Lord  Ring-  j 
wood's   man,   when   their   Lordships 
(master    and   man)    were    in    town. 
These  gentlemen   had  a  regard  for 
each  other;     and,    when   they   met,  ; 
communicated   to    each    other  their 
views  of  society,  and  their  opinions  j 
of  the  characters  of  the  various  noble  ' 
lords     and     influential     commoners  i 
whom  tliey  served.     Mr.  Rudge  knew 
everything  alx)ut  Philip  Firmin's  af- 
f.iirs,  about  the  Doctor's  fliglit,  about 
Philip's  generous  behavior.     "  Gene- 
rous !   /  call  it  admiral ! "  old  Ridley 
remarked,  while  narrating  this  trait 
of  our  friend's,  — and  his  present  po- 
sition.     And  Rudge  contrasted  Phil- 
ip's manly  behavior  with  the  conduct 
of  some  sneutcs  which  he  would  not , 
name  them,  hut  which  they  were  al-  j 
ways  speaking  ill  of  the  poor  young  ! 


fellow  behind  his  back,  and  sneaking 
up  to  my  Lord,  and  greater  skintiints 
and  meaner  humbugs  never  were : 
and  there  was  no  accounting  for 
tastes,  but  he,  Rudge,  would  not 
marry  his  dangiiter  to  a  black  man. 

Now :  that  day  when  Mr.  Firmin 
went  to  see  my  Lord  Ringwood  was 
one  of  my  Lord's  very  worst  days, 
when  it  was  almost  as  dangerous  to 
go  near  him  as  to  approach  a  Bengal 
tiger.  When  he  is  going  to  have  a  fit 
of  gout,  his  Lordship  (Mr.  Rudge  re- 
marked) was  hawful.  He  curse  and 
swear,  he  do,  at  everybody  ;  even  the 
clergy  or  the  ladies,  —  all 's  one.  On 
that  very  day  when  Mr  Pirmin  called 
he  had  said  to  Mr.  Twysden,  '■  Get 
out,  and  don't  come  slandering,  and 
backbiting,  and  bullying  that  poor 
devil  of  a  boy  any  more.  It 's  black- 
guardly, by  George,  sir,  —  it's  black- 
guardly." And  Twysden  came  out 
witii  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  he 
says  to  mc,  — "  Rudge,"  says  he, 
"  my  Lord  's  uncommon  bad  to-day." 
Weil,  he  had  n't  been  gone  an  hour 
when  pore  Philip  comes,  bad  luck  to 
him,  and  my  Lord,  who  had  just 
heard  from  Twysden  all  about  that 
young  woman  —  that  party  at  Paris, 
Mr.  Ridley  —  and  it  is  about  as  great 
a  jiiece  of  folly  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of 
—  my  Ijord  turns  upon  the  ])ore 
young  fellar  and  call  him  names 
worse  than  Twysden.  But  Mr.  Pir- 
min  ain't  that  sort  of  man,  he  is  n't 
He  won't  suifer  any  man  to  call  liini 
names ;  and  I  suppose  he  gave  my 
Lord  his  own  bnck  again,  for  I  heard 
my  Lo!  d  swear  at  him  tremendous,  I 
did,  with  my  own  ears.  When  my 
Lord  has  the  gout  flying  about  I  told 
you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his 
colchicum  he 's  worse.  Now,  we  have 
got  a  party  at  Whipham  at  Christmas, 
and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And 
he  took  his  colchicum  night  before 
last,  and  to-day  he  was  in  such  a  tre- 
mendous rage  of  swearing,  cursing, 
and  blowing  up  everybody,  that  it 
was  as  if  he  was  red-hot.  And  when 
Twysden  and  Mrs.  Twysden  called 
that  day  (if  you  kick  that  fellar  out 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


249 


at  the  hall  door,  I  'm  blest  if  he  won't 
come  smirkin'  down  the  chimney), — 
and  he  wouldn't  see  any  of  thcni. 
And  he  bawled  out  after  me,  '  If  Fir- 
min  comes,  kick  him  down  stairs,  — 
do  you  hear  ? '  with  ever  so  many 
oaths  and  curses  against  the  poor  fel- 
low, while  he  vowed  he  would  never 
see  his  hanged  impudent  iace  again. 
But  this  was  n't  all,  Kidley.  He  sent 
for  Bradgate,  his  lawyer,  that  very 
day.  He  had  back  his  will,  which  I 
signed  myself  as  one  of  the  witnesses, 
—  me  and  Wilcox,  the  master  of  the 
hotel,  —  and  I  know  he  liad  left  Fir- 
min  something  in  it.  Take  my  word 
for  it.  To  that  poor  young  fellow  he 
means  mischief."  A  full  report  of 
this  conversation  Mr.  Ridley  gave  to 
his  little  friend  Mrs.  Brandon,  know- 
ing the  interest  which  Mrs.  Brandon 
took  in  the  young  gentleman ;  and 
with  these  unpleasant  news  Mrs. 
Brandon  cnme  off  to  advise  with 
those  who  —  the  good  nurse  was 
pleased  to  say  —  were  Philip's  best 
friends  in  the  world.  We  wished  we 
could  give  the  Little  Sister  comfort : 
but  all  the  world  knew  what  a  man 
Lord  Ringwood  was,  —  how  arbitrary, 
how  revengeful,  how  cruel ! 

I  knew  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer, 
with  whom  I  had  business,  and  called 
upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak 
about  Philip's  affairs  than  my  own. 
I  suppose  I  was  too  eager  in  coming 
to  my  point,  for  Bradgate  saw  the 
meaning  of  my  questions,  and  de- 
clined to  answer  them.  "  My  client 
and  I  are  not  the  dearest  friends  in 
tiie  world,"  Bradgate  said,  "  but  I 
must  keep  his  counsel,  and  must  not 
tell  you  whether  Mr  Firmin's  name 
is  down  in  his  Lordship's  will  or  not. 
How  should  I  know  1  He  may  have 
altered  his  will.  He  may  have  left  Fir- 
min  money ;  he  may  have  left  him 
none.  I  hope  yoimg  Firmin  does  not 
count  on  a  legacy.  "That 's  all.  He  may 
be  disappointed  if  he  does.  Why, 
you  may  hope  for  a  legacy  from  Lord 
RingAvood,  and  you  may  be  disap- 
pointed. I  know  scores  of  people 
who  do  hope  for  something,  and  who 
11* 


won't  get  a  penny."  And  this  was 
all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time 
from  the  oracular  little  lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every 
dutiful  man  tells  everything  lo  every 
dutiful  wife  :  —  but,  though  Bradgate 
discouraged  us,  there  was  somehow  a 
lurking  liojie  still  that  the  old  noble- 
man woultl  provide  for  our  friend. 
Then  Philip  would  marry  Charlotte. 
Then  he  would  earn  ever  so  much 
more  money  by  his  newspaper.  Then 
he  would  be  happy  ever  after.  My 
wife  counts  eggs  not  only  before  they 
are  hatched,  but  before  they  are  laid. 
Never  was  such  an  obstinate  hope- 
fulness of  character.  I,  on  the  other 
band,  take  a  rational  and  despondent 
view  of  things ;  and  if  they  turn 
out  better  than  I  expect,  as  sometimes 
they  will,  I  affably  own  that  I  have 
been  mistaken. 

But  an  early  day  came  when  Mr. 
Bradgate  was  no  longer  needful,  or 
when  he  tliought  himself  released 
from  the  obligations  of  silence  with 
regard  to  his  noble  client.  It  was 
two  days  before  Christmas,  and  I 
took  my  accustomed  afternoon  saun- 
ter to  "  Bays's,"  where  other  hahilues 
of  the  club  were  assembled.  There 
was  no  little  buzzing  and  excitement 
among  the  frequenters  of  the  place. 
Talbot  Twysden  always  arrived  at 
"  Bays's  "  at  ten  minutes  past  four, 
and  scuffled  for  the  evening  paper,  as 
if  its  contents  were  matter  of  great 
importance  to  Talbot.  He  would 
hold  men's  buttons,  and  discourse  to 
them  the  leading  article  out  of  that 
paper  with  -an  astounding  cnijjhasis 
and  gravity.  On  this  day,  some  ten 
minutes  after  his  accustomed  hour, 
he  reached  the  club.  Other  gentle- 
men were  engaged  in  perusing  the 
evening  journal.  The  lamps  on  the 
tables  lighted  up  the  bald  heads,  the 
gray  heads,  dyed  heads,  and  the  wigs 
of  many  assembled  fogies, —  murmurs 
went  about  the  room  :  "  Very  sud- 
den." "  Gout  in  the  stomach." 
"  Dined  here  only  four  days  ago." 
"  Looked  very  well."  "  Very  well  ? 
No  !    Never  saw  a  fellow  look  worB«i 


250 


THE  ADVENTUBES  OF  PHILIP. 


in  my  life."  "  Yellow  as  a  guinea." 
"  Could  n't  eat."  "  Swore  dreadfully 
at  the  waiters,  and  at  Tom  Eaves 
who  dined  with  him."  "  Seventy-six, 
I  sec. — Born  in  the  same  year  with 
the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty  thou- 
sand a  year."  "  Forty  ?  fifty-eight 
thousand  three  hundred,  I  tell  you. 
Always  been  a  saving  man."  "  Es- 
tate goes  to  his  cousin,  Sir  John 
Ringwood ;  not  a  member  here,  — 
member  of '  Boodle's.' "  "  Hated  each 
other  furiously.  Very  violent  temper, 
the  old  fellow  was.  Never  got  over 
the  Reform  Bill,  they  used  to  say." 
"  Wonder  whether  he  '11  leave  any- 
thing to  old  bow  -  wow  Twys  —  " 
Here  enters  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq. — 
"  Ha,  Colonel !  How  are  you  ? 
What 's  the  news  to-night  7  Kept 
late  at  my  office,  making  up  accounts. 
Going  down  to  Whipham  to-morrow 
to  pass  Christmas  with  my  wife's 
uncle,  —  Ringwood,  you  know.  Al- 
ways go  down  to  Whipham  at  Christ- 
mas. Keeps  the  pheasants  for  us. 
No  longer  a  hunting  man  myself. 
Lost  my  nerve,  by  George." 

Whilst  the  braggart  little  creature 
indulged  in  this  pompous  talk,  he  did 
not  see  tlie  significant  looks  which 
were  fixed  upon  him,  or,  if  he  remarked 
them,  was  perhaps  pleased  by  the  at- 
tention which  he  excited.  "  Bays's  " 
had  long  echoed  with  Twysden's  ac- 
count of  Ringwood,  the  pheasants, 
his  own  loss  of  nerve  in  hunting,  and 
the  sura  which  their  family  would  in- 
herit at  the  death  of  their  noble  rela- 
tive. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir 
Johu  Ringwood  inherits  after  your  rel- 
ative ? "  asked  Mr.  Hookham. 

"  Yes ;  the  estate,  not  the  title. 
The  earldom  goes  to  my  Lord  and  his 
heirs,  —  Hookham.  Why  shouldn't 
he  marry  again  ;  I  often  say  to  him, 
'  Ringwood,  why  don't  you  marry, 
if  it 's  only  to  disappoint  that  Whig 
fellow,  Sir  John  ?  You  are  fresh  and 
hale,  Ringwood.  You  may  live  twen- 
ty years,  five-and-twenty  years.  If 
you  leave  your  niece  and  my  children 
anything,  we  're  not  in  a  hurry  to  in- 


herit,' I  say;  'why  don't  yon  mar. 
ry  r  " 

"  Ah !  Twysden,  he 's  past  marry- 
ing, "  groans  iVIr.  Hookham. 

"Not  at  all.  Sober  man,  now. 
Stout  man.  Immense  jwwerful  man. 
Healthy  man,  but  for  gout.  I  often 
say  to  him,  '  Ringwood  !  I  say  — ' " 

"  O,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this  !  " 
groans  old  Mr.  Tremlett,  who  always 
begins  to  shudder  at  the  sound  of  poor 
Twysden's  voice.  "  Tell  him,  some- 
body." 

"Haven't  you  heard,  Twysden? 
Have  n't  you  seen  ^  Don't  yott 
know  1  "  asks  Mr.  Hookham,  solemn- 

"  Heard,  seen,  known  —  what  ?  " 
cries  the  other. 

"  An  accident  has  happened  to  Lord 
Ringwood.  Look  at  the  paper.  Here 
it  is."  And  Twysden  pulls  out  his 
great  gold  eyeglasses,  holds  the  paper 
as  far  as  his  little  arm  will  reach,  and 
—  and  merciful  Powers  !  —  but  I  will 
not  venture  to  depict  the  agony  on 
that  noble  face.  Like  Timanthes  the 
painter,  I  hide  this  Agamemnon  with 
a  veil.  I  cast  the  Globe  newspaper 
over  him.  IllalxUur  orbis:  and  let 
imagination  depict  our  Twysden  un- 
der the  ruins. 

What  Twysden  read  in  the  Globe 
was  a  mere  curt  paragraph ;  but  in 
next  morning's  Times  there  was  one 
of  those  obituary  notices  to  which  no- 
blemen of  eminence  must  submit  from 
the  mysterious  necrographer  engaged 
by  that  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

PULVIS  ET    tJMBRA  SUMCS. 

The  first  and  only  Earl  of  Ring- 
wood  has  submitted  to  the  fate  which 
peers  and  commoners  are  alike  des- 
tined to  undergo.  Hastening  to  his 
magnificent  seat  of  Whipham  Market, 
where  he  proposed  to  entertain  an  il- 
lustrious Christmas  party,  his  Lord- 
ship left  London  scarcely  recovered 
&om  an  attack  of  gout  to  which  ha 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


251 


has  been  ''or  many  years  a  martyr. 
The  disease  must  have  flown  to  his 
stomexih,  and  suddenly  mastered  him. 
At  Tiureys  Regum,  thirty  miles  from 
his  cfm  princely  habitation,  where  he 
hac*  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his 
almost  royal  progresses  to  his  home, 
h'i  was  already  in  a  state  of  dreadful 
Buflfering,  to  which  his  attendants  did 
Hot  pay  the  attention  which  his  condi- 
tion ought  to  have  excited ;  for  when 
laboring  under  this  most  painful  mala- 
dy his  outcries  were  loud,  and  his  lan- 
guage and  demeanor  exceedingly  vio- 
lent. He  angrily  refused  to  send  for 
medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and  insisted 
on  continuing  his  journey  homewards. 
He  was  one  of  the  old  school,  who 
never  would  enter  a  railway  (though 
his  fortune  was  greatly  increased  by 
the  passage  of  the  railway  through 
his  property) ;  and  his  own  horses  al- 
ways met  him  at  "  Popper's  Tavern," 
an  obscure  hamlet,  seventeen  miles 
fix)m  his  princely  seat  He  made  no 
sign  on  arriving  at  "  Popper's,"  and 
spoke  no  word,  to  the  now  serious 
alarm  of  his  servants.  When  they 
came  to  light  his  carriage-lamps,  and 
look  into  his  post-chaise,  the  lord  of 
many  thousand  acres,  and,  according 
to  report,  of  immense  wealth,  was 
dead.  The  journey  from  Turreys 
had  been  the  last  stage  of  a  long,  a 
prosperous,  and,  if  not  a  famous,  at 
least  a  notorious  and  magnificent  ca- 
reer. 

"  The  late  John  George,  Earl  and 
Baron  Ringwood  and  Viscount  Cinq- 
bars,  entered  into  public  life  at  the 
dangerous  period  before  the  French 
Revolution ;  and  commenced  his  ca- 
reer as  the  friend  and  companion  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  his  Roy- 
al Highness  seceded  from  the  Whig 
party.  Lord  Ringwood  also  joined 
the  Tory  side  of  politicians,  and  an 
earldom  was  the  price  of  his  fidelity. 
But  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  Steyne 
to  a  marquisate.  Lord  Ringwood 
quarrelled  for  a  while  with  his  royal 
patron  and  friend,  deeiriing  his  own 
services  unjustly  slighted,  as  a  like 
dignity   was   not  conferred  on  him- 


self. On  several  occasions  he  gave 
his  vote  against  Government,  and 
caused  his  nominees  in  the  House  of 
Commons  to  vote  with  the  Whigs. 
He  never  was  reconciled  to  his  late 
Majesty  George  IV.,  of  whom  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  with  charac- 
teristic bluntness.  The  approach  of 
tlie  Reform  Bill,  however,  threw  this 
nobleman  definitively  on  the  Tory 
side,  of  which  he  has  ever  since  re- 
mained, if  not  an  eloquent,  at  least  a 
violent  supporter.  He  was  said  to  be 
a  liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his  ten- 
ants did  not  thwart  him  in  his  views. 
His  only  son  died  early ;  and  his  Lord- 
ship, according  to  report,  has  long 
been  on  ill  terms  with  his  kinsman 
and  successor,  Sir  John  Ringwood,  of 
Appleshaw,  Baronet.  The  Barony 
has  been  in  this  ancient  family  since 
the  reign  of  George  I.,  when  Sir  John 
Ringwood  was  ennobled,  and  Sir 
Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the 
Exchequer,  was  advanced  to  the  dig- 
nity of  Baronet  by  the  first  of  our 
Hanoverian  sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  my  wife 
and  I  read  on  the  morning  of  Christ- 
I  mas  eve,  as  our  children  were  decking 
I  lamps  and  looking-glasses  with  holly 
;  and  red  berries  for  the  approaching 
j  festival.  I  had  despatched  a  hurried 
note,  containing  the  news,  to  I'hilip 
on  the  night  previous.  We  were 
painfully  anxious  about  his  fate  now, 
when  a  few  days  would  decide  it. 
Again  my  business  or  curiosity  took 
me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  lawyer. 
He  was  in  possession  of  the  news  of 
course.  He  was  not  averse  to  talk 
about  it.  The  death  of  his  client  un- 
sealed the  lawyer's  lips  partially; 
and  I  must  say  Bradgate  spoke  in  a 
manner  not  flattering  to  his  noble  de- 
ceased client.  The  brutalities  of  tlie 
late  nobleman  had  been  ver}'  hard  to 
bear.  On  occasion  of  their  last  meet- 
ing his  oaths  and  disrespectful  behav- 
ior had  been  specially  odious.  He 
had  abused  almost  every  one  of  his 
relatives.     His  heir,  he  said,   was   a 

E  rating,    republican    humbug.      He 
ad  a  relative  (whom  Bradgate  said 


252 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


he  would  not  name)  who  was  a  schem- 1 
in.^,  swagj^ering,  swindling  lickspittle  j 
parasite,  always  cringing  at  his  heels  | 
and  longing  for  his  death.     And  he  j 
had  another  relative,   the  impudent  j 
son  of  a  swindling  doctor,  who  had  j 
insulted  him  two  hours  before  in  his  , 
own  room ;  —  a  fellow  who  was  a  pau-  | 
per,  and  going  to  propagate  a  breed 
for  the  workhouse ;   for,  after  his  be-  . 
liavior  of  that  day,  he  would  be  con- 
(1  jnmed  to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron,  ; 
before  he.  Lord  Ringwood,  would  give 
that  scoundrel  a  penny  of  his  money. 
"  And  his  Lordship  desired  me  to  send 
him  biick  his  will,"  said  Mr.  Bradgate. 
And  he  destroyed  that  will  before  he 
went  away:   it  was  not  the  first  he 
had  burned.     "  And  I  may  tell  you, 
now  all  is  over,  that  he  had  left  his 
brother's  grandson  a  handsome  legacy 
in  that  will,  which  your  poor  friend 
might  have  had,  but  tljat  he  went  to 
see    my  Lord  in  his  unlucky  fit  of 
gout."    Ah,  raea  culpa!   mea  culpa! 
And  who  sent  Philip  to  see  his  rela- 
tive in   that  unlucky    fit    of   gout? 
Who  was  so  worldly-wise,  —  so  Twys- 
den-like,  as  to  counsel  Philip  to  flat- 
tery and  submission  ?     But  for  that 
advice  he  might  be  wealthy  now ;   he 
might  be  happy ;   he  might  be  ready 
to  marry  his  young  sweetheart.     Our 
Christmas  turkey  choked  me  as  I  ate 
of  it.     The  lights  burned  dimly,  and 
the  kisses  and  laughter  under  the  mis- 1 
tletoc  were    but    melancholy    sport.  | 
But  for  my  advice,  how  happy  might  i 
my  friend  have  been !     I  looked  ask- 
ance at  the  honest  faces  of  my  chil-  j 
dron.     What  would  they  say  if  they  | 
knew  their  father  had  advise-d  a  friend 
to  cringe,  and  bow,  and  humble  him-  ■ 
self  Ijefore  a  rich,  wicked  old  man  ?  ] 
1  sat  as  mute  at  the  pantomime  as  at 
a  burial ;    the   laugliter  of   the  little 
ones  smote  me  as  with  a  reproof.     A 
burial  ?     With   plumes    and    lights, 
and     upholsterers'     pageantry,     and 
mourning  by  the  yard  measure,  they 
were  burying   my    Lord    Ringwood, 
who  miiiht  have  made  Philip  Firmin 
ricli  hilt  for  me. 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our 


friend  were  quickly  put  to  an  end.  A 
will  was  found  at  Whipham,  dated  a 
year  back,  in  which  no  mention  was 
made  of  poor  Philip  Firmin.  Small 
legacies  —  disgracefully  shabby  and 
small,  Twysden  said  —  were  left  to 
the  Twysden  family,  with  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  the  late  Earl  in  his 
coronation  robes,  which,  I  should 
think,  must  have  given  but  small 
satisfaction  to  his  surviving  relatives ; 
for  his  Lordship  was  but  an  ill-favor- 
ed nobleman,  and  the  price  of  the 
carriage  of  the  large  picture  from 
Whipham  was  a  tax  which  poor  Tal- 
bot made  vcrv  wry  faces  at  paying. 
Had  the  picture  been  accompanied  by 
thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds,  or 
fifty"thousand,  —  why  should  he  not 
have  left  them  fifty  thousand'?  — 
how  different  Talbot's  grief  would 
have  been !  Whereas  when  Talbot 
counted  up  the  dinners  he  had  given 
to  Lord  Ringwood,  all  of  which  he 
could  easily  calculate  by  his  cunning 
ledgers  and  journals  in  which  was 
noted  down  every  feast  at  which  his 
Lordship  attended,  every  guest  assem- 
bled, and  every  bottle  of  wine  drunk, 
Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolute- 
ly spent  more  money  upon  my  Lord 
than  the  old  man  had  paid  back 
in  his  will.  But  all  the  family  went 
into  mourning,  and  the  Twysden 
coachman  and  footman  turned  out  in 
black-worsted  epaulettes  in  honor  of 
the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  not 
every  day  that  a  man  gets  a  ciiance 
of  publicly  bewailing  the  loss  of  an 
Earl  his  relative.  I  suppose  Twysden 
took  many  hundred  people  into  his 
confidence  on  this  matter,  and  lie- 
wailed  his  uncle's  death  and  his  own 
wrongs  whilst  clinging  to  many  scores 
of  button-holes. 

And  how  did  poor  Philip  bear  the 
disapp<jintment  1  He  must  have  felt 
it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encour- 
aged him  in  the  hope  that  his  grand- 
nncle  would  do  something  to  relieve 
his  necessity.  Philip  put  a  bit  of 
crape  round  his  bat,  wrajjpod  himself 
in  his  shabby  old  mantle,  and  de- 
clined any  outward  show  of  grief  at 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


253 


all.  If  the  old  man  had  left  him 
money,  it  had  been  well.  As  he  did 
not,  —  a  puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends 
the  sentence,  and  our  philosopher 
gives  no  further  thought  to  his  disap- 
pointment. Was  not  Philip  the  poor 
as  lordly  and  independent  as  I'lulip 
the  rich  ?  A  struggle  with  poverty  is 
a  wholesome  wrestling-match  at  three 
or  five  and  twenty.  The  sinews  are 
young,  and  are  braced  by  the  contest. 
It  is  upon  the  aged  that  the  battle 
falls  hardly,  who  are  weakened  by 
failing  health,  and  perhaps  enervated 
by  long  years  of  prosperity. 

Firmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a 
heavy   burden,  and  he  was  glad  to 
take  all  the  work  which  fell  in  his 
way.     Phipps,  of  the    Daily  Intelli- 
gencer, wanting   an  assistant,  Philip 
gladly  sold  four  hours  of  his  day  to 
Mr.   Phipps  :    translated  page    after 
page  of  newspapers,  French  and  Ger- 
tnan  ;  took  an  occasional  turn  at  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  gave  an 
account  of  a  sitting  of  importance, 
and  made   himself    quite   an    active 
lieutenant.     He  began   positively  to 
save    money.     He     wore    dreadfully 
shabby  clothes,  to  be  sure  :  for  Char- 
lotte could  not  go  to  his  chamber  and 
mend  his  rags  as  the  Little  Sister  had 
done  :  but  when  Mrs.  Bayncs  abused 
him  for  his  shabby  appearance,  —  and 
indeed  it  must  have  been  mortifying 
sometimes  to  see  the  fellow  in  his  old  • 
clothes  swaggering  about  in  Madame 
Smolensk's  apartments,  talking  loud, 
contradicting,  and  laying  down  the 
law,  —  Charlotte    defended    her    ma- ^ 
liixned  Philip.     "  Do  you  know  why  j 
Monsienr    Philip    has   these  shabby 
clothes  ?  "  she   asked  of  Madame  de 
Smol'.nsk.     "  Because  he   has    been 
sending  money  to  his  father  in  Amer-  '■ 
ica."     And  Smolensk  said  that  Mon-  I 
sienr  Philip  was  a  brave  young  man,  ' 
and  I  hat  he  might  rome  dressed    like  : 
an    Iroquois    to    her  soiree,  and  he 
■.should     l)e     welcome.      And     Mrs.  ; 
Baynes  was  rude  to  Philip  when  he 
was   ])res<'nt,   and  scornful  in  her  re-  : 
marks   when    he   was    absent.     And 
Philip  trembled  before  Mrs.  Baynes  ; 


and  he  took  her  boxes  on  the  ear  with 
much    meekness ;  for    was    not    his 
('harlotte  a  hostage  in  her  mother's 
hands,  and  might  not  Mrs.  General  B. 
make  that  poor  little  creature  suffer? 
One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs. 
Baynes's   acquaintance  hajjpencd    to 
pass  this  winter   in   Paris,  and   these 
persons,  who  had  furnished  lodgings 
ill  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  or  the 
Champs  Elyse'es,  and  rode  in  their 
carriages  with,  very  likely,  a  footman 
on  the  box,  rather  looked  down  upon 
Mrs.  Bayncs  for  living  in  a  boarding- 
house,  and  keeping  no  equipage.     Ko 
woman  likes  to  he  looked  down  upon 
I  by  any  other  woman,  especially   by 
:  such  a  creature  as  Mrs.  Batters,  the 
[  lawyer's  wife,   from    Calcutta,    who 
was  not  in  society,  and  did  not  go  to 
I  Government    House,    and   here   was 
driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elysees, 
i  and  giving  herself  such  airs,  indeed  ! 
i  So  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon,  with 
her  ludy's-maid,  and  her  viun-cook,  and 
her  open  carrktye,  and  her   dose  car- 
riage.    (Pray  read  these  words  with 
the  most  withering  emphasis  which 
you  can  lay  upon  them.)     And  who 
was   Mrs.  Macoon,  pray  ?     Madame 
Beret,  the  French  milliner's  daugh- 
ter, neither  more  nor  less.     And  this 
creature  must  scatter  her  mud   over 
her  betters  who  went  on  foot.     "  I 
am  telling  my  poor  girls,  madame," 
she  would  say  to  Madame  Smolensk, 
"  that  if  I  had  been  a  milliner's  girl, 
or  their  father  had  been  a  pettifog- 
ging attorney,  and  not  a  soldier,  who 
has    served    his   sovereign  in    every 
quarter  of  the  world,  they  would  be 
bettfr  dressed  than  they  are  now,  poor 
chicks  !  —  we  nii^ht  have  a  fine  apart- 
ment in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honorc', — 
we  need  not  live  at  a  boarding-house." 
"  And   if  /  had  been  a    milliner, 
Madame   la   Getie'rale,"    cried    Smo- 
lensk, with  .spirit,  "  perhaps  I  should 
not  have  had  need  to  keep  a  board- 
ing-house.    My  father  was  a  general 
officer,   and  served   his  emperor  too. 
But  what  will  you  ?     We  have  nil  to 
do   disagreeable    things,   and  to  live 
with  disagreeable  people,  madame ! " 


^54 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


And  with  this  Smolensk  makes  Mrs. 
General  Baynes  a  fine  courtesy,  and 
goes  otFto  other  affairs  or  guests.  She 
was  of  the  opinion  of  many  of  Philip's 
friends.  "  Ah,  Monsieur  Philip,"  she 
said  to  him,  "  when  you  are  married, 
you  will  live  far  from  that  woman  ;  is 
it  not  1  " 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  was 
going  to  the  Tuileries,  I  am  sorry  to 
say  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs. 
Baynes,  and  she  never  was  easy  until 
she  persuaded  her  General  to  take  her 
to  the  ambassador's,  and  to  the  en- 
tertainments of  the  citizen  king  who 
governed  France  in  those  days.  It 
would  cost  little  or  nothing.  Char- 
lotte must  be  brought  out.  Her  aunt, 
MacWhirter,  from  Tours,  had  sent 
Charlotte  a  present  of  money  for  a 
dress.  To  do  Mrs.  Baynes  justice, 
she  spent  very  little  money  upon  her 
own  raiment,  and  extracted  from  one 
of  her  trunks  a  costume  which  had 
done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and  Cal- 
cutta. "  After  hearing  that  Mrs 
Batters  went,  I  knew  she  never  would 
be  easy,"  General  Baynes  said,  with 
a  sigh.  His  wife  denied  the  accusa- 
tion as  an  outrage ,  said  that  men  al- 
ways imputed  the  worst  motives  to 
women,  whereas  her  wish.  Heaven 
knows,  was  only  to  see  her  darling 
child  properly  presented,  and  her  hus- 
band m  his  proper  rank  in  the  world. 
And  Charlotte  looked  lovely,  upon 
the  evening  of  the  ball  r  and  Madame 
Smolensk  dressed  Charlotte's  hair 
very  prettily,  and  olFered  to  lend 
Auguste  to  accompany  the  General's 
carriage ;  but  Ogoost  revolted,  and 
said,  "  Non,  merci !  he  would  do  any- 
thing for  the  General  and  Miss  Char- 
lotte, —  but  for  the  Generale,  no,  no, 
no ! "  and  he  made  signs  of  violent 
abnegation.  And  though  Charlotte 
looked  as  sweet  as  a  rosebud,  she  had 
little  pleasure  in  her  ball,  Philip  not 
being  present.  And  how  could  he  be 
present,  who  had  but  one  old  coat, 
and  lioles  in  his  boots  1 

So  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn, 
a  cold  wintiT  comes,  when  the  wind 
i.i  bad  for  delicate  chests,  and  muddy 


for  little  shoes.  How  could  Charlotte 
come  out  at  eight  o'clock  through 
mud  or  snow  of  a  winter's  morning, 
if  she  had  been  out  at  an  evening 
party  late  overnight  ?  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  began  to  go  out  a  good  deal 
to  the  Paris  evening-parties,  —  I  mean 
to  the  parties  of  us  Trojans,  —  parties 
where  there  are  forty  English  people, 
three  Frenchmen,  and  a  German  who 
plays  the  piano.  Charlotte  was  very 
much  admired.  The  fame  of  her 
good  looks  spread  abroad.  I  promise 
you  that  there  were  persons  of  much 
more  importance  than  the  poor  Vi- 
comte  de  Gar^onboutiqiie  who  were 
charmed  by  her  bright  eyes,  her 
bright  smiles,  her  artless,  rosy  beauty. 
Why,  little  Hely,  of  the  Embassy, 
actually  invited  himself  to  Mrs.  Doc- 
tor Macoon's,  in  order  to  see  this 
yoimg  beauty,  and  danced  with  her 
without  ceasing :  Mr.  Hely,  who  was 
the  pink  of  fashion,  you  know ;  who 
danced  with  the  royal  princesses ;  and 
was  at  all  the  grand  parties  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain.  He  saw  her 
to  her  carriage  (a  very  shabby  fly,  it 
must  be  confessed  ;  but  Mrs.  Baynes 
told  him  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
a  very  different  kind  of  equipage  in 
India).  He  actu.ally  called  at  the 
boarding-house,  and  left  his  card,  M. 
Walsinyham  Ilelij,  attache  a  I'Amlias- 
sade  de  S.  M.  Britannique  for  General 
Baynes  and  his  lady.  To  what  balls 
would  Mrs.  Baynes  like  to  go?  to 
the  Tuileries  ?  to  the  Embassy  ?  to 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  ?  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Honore  ?  I  could  name 
many  more  persons  of  distinction  who 
were  fascinated  by  pretty  Miss  Char- 
lotte. Her  mother  felt  more  and 
more  ashamed  of  the  shabby  fly,  in 
which  our  young  lady  was  conveyed 
to  and  from  her  parties ;  —  of  the 
shabby  fly,  and  of  that  shabby  cava- 
lier who  was  in  waiting  sometimes  to 
put  Miss  Charlotte  into  her  carriage. 
Charlotte's  mother's  ears  were  only 
too  acute  when  disparaging  remarks 
were  m.ade  about  that  cavalier. 
What  ?  engaged  to  that  queer  red- 
bearded  fellow,  with  the  ragged  shirt- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


255 


collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody  in 
the  polka "?  A  newspaper  writer,  was 
he?  The  son  of  that  Doctor  who 
ran  away  after  cheating  everybody  ? 
What  a  very  odd  thing  of  General 
Baynes  to  think  of  engaging  his 
daughter  to  such  a  person  ! 

So  Mr.  Firmin  was  not  asked  to 
many  distinguished  houses,  where  his 
Charlotte  was  made  welcome ;  where 
there  was  dancing  in  the  saloon,  very 
mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the  saUe-a- 
iiuinger,  and  cards  in  the  lady's  bed- 
room. And  he  did  not  care  to  be 
asked ;  and  he  made  himself  very  ar- 
rogant and  disagreeable  when  he  was 
asked  ;  and  he  would  upset  tea-trays, 
and  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter 
at  all  times,  and  swagger  about  the 
drawing-room  as  if  he  were  a  man  of 
importance,  —  he  indeed,  —  giving 
himself  such  airs  because  his  grand- 
father's brother  was  an  earl !  And 
what  had  the  earl  done  for  him,  pray  ? 
And  what  right  had  he  to  burst  out 
laughing  when  Miss  Crackley  sang  a 
little  out  of  tune?  What  could  General 
Baynes  mean  by  selecting  such  a  hus- 
band for  that  nice,  modest  young  girl  ? 

The  old  General  sitting  in  the  best 
bedroom,  placidly  playing  at  whist 
with  the  other  British  fogies,  does  not 
hear  these  remarks,  perhaps,  but  little 
Mrs.  Baynes  with  her  eager  eyes  and 
ears  sees  and  knows  everything. 
Many  people  have  told  her  that  Philip 
is  a  bad  match  for  her  daughter. 
She  has  heard  him  contradict  calmly 
(jitite  wealthy  people.  Mr.  Hobday, 
who  has  a  house  in  Carlton  Terrace, 
London,  and  goes  to  the  first  houses 
in  Paris,  —  Philip  has  contradicted 
liim  point-blank,  until  Mr.  Hobday 
'.urned  quite  red,  and  Mrs.  Hobday 
did  n't  know  where  to  look.  Mr. 
Peplow,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's 
eldest  son,  who  will  be  one  day  the 
Hev.  Sir  Charles  Peplow  of  Peplow 
Manor,  was  praising  Tomiinson's 
poems,  and  offered  to  read  out  at  Mr. 
Badger's,  —  and  he  reads  very  finely, 
though  a  little  perhaps  throu<;;h  his 
nose,  —  and  when  he  was  going  to 
begin,   Mr.  Firmin  said,  "My  dear 


Peplow,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  give 
us  any  of  that  rot.  I  would  as  soon 
hear  one  of  your  own  prize  poems." 
Rot,  indeed  !  What  an  expression  ! 
Of  course  Mr.  Peplow  was  very  much 
annoyed.  And  this  from  a  mere 
newspaper  writer.  Never  heard  of 
such  rudeness  !  Mrs.  Tuffin  said  she 
took  her  line  at  once  after  seeing  this 
Mr.  Firmin.  "  He  may  be  an  earl's 
grand-nephew,  for  what  I  care.  He 
may  have  been  at  college :  he  has  not 
learned  good  manners  there.  He  may 
be  clever,  —  I  don't  profess  to  be  a 
judge.  But  he  is  most  overbearing, 
clumsy,  and  disagreeable.  I  shall 
not  ask  him  to  my  Tuesdays ;  and, 
Emma,  if  he  asks  yon  to  dance,  I  beg 
you  will  do  no  such  thing ! "  A  bull, 
you  understand,  in  a  meadow,  or  on 
a  prairie  with  a  herd  of  other  buffa- 
loes, is  a  noble  animal :  but  a  bull  in 
a  china-shop  is  out  of  place ;  and 
even  so  was  Philip  amongst  the 
crockery  of  those  little  simple  tea- 
parties,  where  his  mane,  and  hoofs, 
and  roar  caused  endless  disturbance. 
These  remarks  concerning  the  ac- 
cepted son-in-law  Mrs.  Baynes  heard 
and,  at  proper  moments,  repeated. 
She  ruled  Baynes ;  but  was  very  cau- 
tious, and  secretly  afraid-  of  him. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  gone  too  far 
in  her  dealings  with  the  quiet  old 
man,  and  he  had  revolted,  put  her 
down  and  never  forgiven  her.  Be- 
j'ond  a  certain  point,  she  dared  not 
provoke  her  husband.  She  would 
say,  "  Well,  Baynes,  marriage  is  a 
lottery ;  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor 
Charlotte  has  not  pulled  a  prize  "  :  on 
which  the  General  would  rejjly,  "No 
more  have  others,  my  dear !  "  and  so 
drop  the  subject  for  the  time  being. 
On  another  occasion  it  would  be, 
"  You  heard  how  rude  I'hilip  Firmin 
was  to  Mr.  Hobday  ? "  and  the  Gen- 
eral would  answer,  "  I  wns  at  cards, 
my  dear."  Again  she  might  say, 
"  Mrs.  Tuffin  says  she  will  not  have 
Philip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays,  my 
dear":  and  the  General's  rejoinder 
would  be,  "  Begad,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter for  him ! "     "Ah,"   she  groans 


256 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  he 's  always  offending  some  one  !  " 
"  I  don't  think  he  seems  to  please  you 
much,  Eliza !  "  responds  the  General : 
and  she  answers,  "  No,  he  don't,  and 
that  I  confess ;  and  I  don't  like  to 
think,  Baynes,  of  my  sweet  child 
given  up  to  certain  poverty,  and  such 
a  man !  "  At  which  the  Gfeneral  with 
some  of  his  garrison  phrases  would 
break  out  with  a  "  Hang  it,  Eliza, 
do  you  suppose  I  think  it  is  a  very 
good  match  ? "  and  turn  to  the  wall, 
and,  I  hope,  to  sleep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her 
mother  is  not  afraid  of  little  Charlotte, 
and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor 
child  knows  she  is  to  be  made  wretch- 
ed by  iier  mother's  assaults  upon 
Pliilip  Was  there  ever  anything  so 
bad  as  his  behavior,  to  burst  out  laugh- 
ini^  when  Miss  Crackley  was  singing  1 
Was  he  called  upon  to  contradict  Sir 
Charles  Peplow  in  that  abrupt  way, 
and  as  good  as  tell  liim  he  was  a  fool  ? 
It  was  very  wrong  certainly,  and  poor 
Charlotte  thinks,  with  a  blush  perhaps, 
how  she  was  just  at  the  point  of  ad- 
miring Sir  Charles  Peplow's  reading 
very  much,  and  had  been  prepared  to 
think  Tomlinson's  poems  delightful, 
until  Philip  ordered  her  to  adopt  a 
contemptitous  opinion  of  the  poet. 
"  And  did  you  see  how  he  was  dressed  ? 
a  button  wanting  on  his  waistcoat, 
and  a  hole  in  his  boot  ?  " 

"  Mamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  turning 
very  red.  "  He  might  have  been  bet- 
ter dressed,  —  if —  if —  " 

"  That  is,  you  would  like  your  own 
fatlier  to  be  in  prison,  your  mother  to 
beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in 
rags,  and  your  brothers  to  starve, 
Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  shouldpay 
Pinlip  Firmin  back  the  money  of  which 
hisfatlier  robbed  him  !  Yes.  That's 
your  meaning.  Yon  need  n't  explain 
yourself.  I  can  understand  quite  well, 
thank  you.  (Jood  night.  I  hope  you '11 
sleep  well ;  /  sha'  n't  after  tiiis  conver- 
sation. Good  night,  Charlotte  !  " 
Ah  me.  O  course  of  true  love,  didst 
tliou  ever  run  smooth  ?  As  we  jteep 
into  that  boarding-house  ;  whereof  I 
have  already  described  the  mistress  as 


wakeful  with  racking  care  regarding 
the  morrow ;  wherein  lie  the  Miss 
Bolderos,  who  must  naturally  be  very 
uncomfortable,  being  on  sufferance 
and  as  it  were  in  pain,  as  they  lie  on 
their  beds ; —  what  sorrows  do  we  not 
perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps  ? 
There  is  poor  Charlotte  who  has  said 
her  prayer  for  her  Philip ;  and  as  she 
lays  her  young  eyes  on  the  pillow,  they 
wet  it  with  their  tears.  Why  does 
her  mother  forever  and  forever  speak 
against  him  ?  Why  is  her  father  so 
cold  when  Philip's  name  is  mentioned  ? 
Could  Charlotte  ever  think  of  any 
but  him  ?  0,  never,  never  !  And  so 
the  Avet  eyes  are  veiled  at  last ;  and 
close  in  doubt  and  fear  and  care. 
And  in  the  next  room  to  Charlotte's, 
a  little  yellow  old  woman  lies  stark 
awake ;  and  in  the  bed  by  her  side  an 
old  gentleman  can't  close  his  eyes  for 
tiiinking,  —  my  poor  girl  is  promised 
to  a  beggar.  All  the  fine  hopes 
which  we  had  of  his  getting  a  legacy 
from  that  lord  arc  over.  Poor  child, 
poor  child,  what  will  become  of  her  ? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fly  over  the 
river  Seine  to  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's 
quarters :  to  Philip's  house,  who  has 
not  got  a  penny  ;  to  Philip's  bed,  who 
has  made  himself  so  rude  and  disa- 
greeable at  that  tea-party.  He  has  no 
idea  that  he  has  offended  anybody. 
He  has  gone  home  perfectly  well 
pleased.  He  has  kicked  off  the  tat- 
tered boot.  He  has  found  a  little  fire 
lingering  in  liis  stove  by  which  he  lias 
smoked  the  pipe  of  thought.  Ere  he 
has  jumped  into  his  bed  he  has  knelt 
a  moment  beside  it ;  and  w-ith  all  his 
heart  —  oh!  with  all  his  heart  and 
soul — has  committed  tlie  dearest  one 
to  Heaven's  loving;  protection !  And 
now  he  sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN    WHICH  WE    STILL    HOVER   ABOUT 
THE  ELYSIAX  FIELDS. 

The   dcscriber  and  l)iographcr  of 
my  friend    Mr.    Philip   Firmin   has 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


257 


tried  to  extenuate  nothing;  and,  I 
hope,  has  set  down  naught  in  malice. 
If  Philip's  boots  had  holes  in  them,  I 
have  written  that  he  had  holes  in  his 
boots.  If  he  had  a  red  beard,  there  it 
is  red  in  this  story.  I  might  have 
oiled  it  with  a  tinge  of  brown,  and 
painted  it  a  rich  auburn.  Towards 
modest  people  he  was  very  gentle  and 
tender ;  but  I  must  own  that  in  gen- 
eral society  lie  was  not  always  an 
agreeable  companion.  He  was  often 
haughty  and  arrogant :  he  was  im- 
patient of  old  stories  :  he  was  intole- 
rant of  commonplaces.  Mrs.  Baynes's 
anecdoti's  of  her  garrison  experiences 
in  India  and  Europe  got  a  very  im- 
patient hearing  from  Mr.  Philip ; 
and  though  little  Charlotte  gently  re- 
monstrated with  him,  saying,  "  Do, 
do  let  mamma  tell  her  story  out ;  and 
don't  turn  away  and  talk  about  some- 
thing else  in  the  midst  of  it ;  and 
don't  tell  her  you  have  heard  the  sto- 
ry before,  you  rude  man  !  If  she  is 
not  pleased  with  you,  she  is  angry 
with  me,  and  I  have  to  suffer  when 
you  are  gone  away."  Miss  Charlotte 
did  not  say  how  much  she  had  to  suf- 
fer when  Philip  was  absent ;  how 
constantly  her  mother  found  fault 
with  him ;  what  a  sad  life,  in  conse- 
quence of  her  attachment  to  him,  the 
young  maiden  had  to  lead  ;  and  I 
fear  that  clumsy  Philip,  in  his  selfish 
thoughtlessness,  did  not  take  enough 
count  of  the  sufferings  which  his  be- 
havior brought  on  the  girl.  You  see 
I  am  acknowledging  that  there  were 
many  faults  on  his  side,  which,  per- 
haps, may  in  some  degree  excuse  or 
account  for  those  which  Mrs.  General 
Raynes  certainly  committed  towards 
him.  She  did  not  love  Philip  natural- 
ly ;  and  do  you  suppose  she  loved 
him  because  she  was  under  great  ob- 
liirations  to  him "?  Do  you  love  your 
creditor  because  you  owe  him  more 
than  you  can  ever  pay  1  If  I  never 
yjaid  my  tailor,  should  I  be  on  good 
terms  with  him  '^  I  might  go  on 
ordering  suits  of  clothes  from  now  to 
the  year  nineteen  hundred;  but  I 
should  hate  him  worse    year    after 


year.  I  should  find  fault  with  his 
cut  and  his  cloth  :  I  dare  say  I  should 
end  by  thinking  his  bills  extortionate, 
though  I  never  paid  them.  Kindness 
is  very  indigestible.  It  disagrees 
with  very  proud  stomachs.  I  wonder 
was  that  traveller  who  fell  among  the 
thieves  grateful  afterwards  to  the 
Samaritan  who  rescued  him  f  lie 
gave  money  certainly  ;  but  he  did  n't 
miss  it.  The  religious  opinions  of 
Samaritans  are  lamentably  hetero- 
dox. 0  brother !  may  we  help  the 
fallen  still  though  they  never  pay  us, 
and  may  we  lend  without  exacting 
the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that 
whenever  I  go  courting  again,  I  will 
not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  crea- 
ture, —  day  after  day,  and  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end,  very  likely,  with  the 
dear  girl's  mother,  father,  and  half  a 
dozen  young  brothers  and  sisters  in 
the  room.  I  shall  begin  by  being 
civil  to  the  old  lady,  of  course.  She 
is  flattered  at  first  by  having  a  young 
fellow  coming  courting  to  her  daugh- 
ter. She  calls  me  "  dear  Edward  "  ; 
works  me  a  pair  of  braces  ;  writes  to 
mamma  and  sisters,  and  so  forth. 
Old  gentleman  says  "  Brown  my 
boy  "  (I  am  here  fondly  imagining 
myself  to  be  a  young  fellow  named 
Ivlward  Brown,  attached,  let  us  say, 
to  Miss  Kate  Thompson),  —  Thomp- 
son, I  say,  says,  "  Brown  my  boy, 
come  to  dinner  at  seven  Cover  laid 
for  you  always."  And  of  course,  de- 
licious thought !  that  cover  is  by  dear- 
est Kate's  side.  But  the  dinner  is 
bad  sometimes.  Sometimes  I  come 
late.  Sometimes  things  are  going 
badly  in  the  City.  Sometimes  Mrs. 
Thompson  is  out  of  humor  ;  —  she 
always  thought  Kate  might  have 
done  better.  And  in  the  midst  of  these 
doubts  and  delays,  suppose  Jones 
appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better 
temper,  a  better  family,  and  —  plague 
on  him  !  —  twice  as  rich  ?  What  are 
engagements  "?  What  are  promises  ? 
It  is  sometimes  an  afltectionate  moth- 
er's DUTY  to  break  her  promise,  and 
that  duty  the  resolute  matron  will  do- 


258 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Then  Edward  is  Edward  no  more, 
but  Mr.  Brown ;  or,  worse  still,  name- 
less in  the  house.  Then  the  knife 
and  fork  are  removed  from  poor 
Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows  her 
own  sad  meal  in  tears.  Then  if  one 
of  the  little  Thompsons  says,  artless- 
ly, "Papa,  I  met  Teddy  Brown  in 
Regent  Street;  he  looked  so  —  " 
"Hold  your  tongue,  unfeeling 
wretch  ! "  cries  mamma.  "  Look  at 
that  dear  child  ! "  Kate  is  swooning. 
She  has  sal-volatile.  The  medical 
man  is  sent  for.  And  presently  — 
Charles  Jones  is  taking  Kate  Thomp- 
son to  dinner.  Long  voyages  are 
dangerous;  so  are  long  courtships. 
In  long  voyages  passengers  perpetu- 
ally quarrel  (for  that  Mrs.  General 
could  vouch) ;  in  long  courtships  the 
same  danger  exists ;  and  how  much 
the  more  when  in  that  latter  ship 
you  have  a  mother  who  is  forever 
putting  in  her  oar !  And  then  to 
think  of  the  annoyance  of  that  love 
voyage  when  you  and  the  beloved  and 
Ijcloved's  papa,  mamma,  half  a  dozen 
brothers  and  sisters,  are  all  in  one 
cabin!  For  economy's  sake  the 
Bayneses  had  no  sitting-room  at 
raadame's, — for  you  could  not  call 
that  room  on  the  second  floor  a 
sitting-room  which  had  two  beds  in 
it,  and  in  which  the  young  ones 
practised  the  piano,  with  poor 
Ciiarlotte  as  their  mistress.  Philip's 
courting  had  to  take  place  for  the 
most  part  before  the  whole  family ; 
and  to  make  love  under  such  difficul- 
ties would  have  been  horrible  and 
maddening  and  impossible  almost, 
only  we  have  admitted  that  our  young 
friends  had  little  walks  in  the  Champs 
Elysecs  ;  and  then  yon  must  own  that 
it  must  have  been  delightful  for  them 
to  write  each  other  perpetual  little 
notes,  which  were  delivered  occultly 
under  the  very  nose  of  papa  and 
mamma,  and  in  the  actual  presence 
of  the  other  boarders  at  madame's, 
wlio,  of  course,  never  saw  anything 
tliat  was  going  on.  Yes,  those  sly 
monkeys  actually  made  little  post- 
»&ces  about  the  room.     There  was. 


for  instance,  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece in  the  salon  on  which  was 
carved  the  old  French  allegory,  "  Le 
temps  fait  passer  l' amour."  One  of 
those  artful  young  people  would  pop 
a  note  into  Time's  boat,  where  you 
may  be  sure  no  one  saw  it.  The 
trictrac  board  was  another  post-office. 
So  was  the  drawer  of  the  music- 
stand.  So  was  the  Sevres  china 
flower-pot,  &c.,  &c. ;  to  each  of  which 
repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers 
confided  the  delicious  secrets  of  theu: 
wooing. 

Have  you  ever  looked  at  your  love- 
letters  to  Darby,  when  you  were 
courting,  dear  Joan  ?  "They  are 
sacred  pages  to  read.  You  have  his 
tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon. 
You  scarce  need  spectacles  as  you 
look  at  them.  The  hair  grows  black ; 
the  eyes  moisten  and  brighten ;  the 
cheeks  fill  and  blush  again.  I  pro- 
test there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  as 
Darby  and  Joan  in  the  world.  I 
hope  Philip  and  his  wife  will  be  Darby 
and  Joan  to  the  end.  I  tell  you  they 
are  married ;  and  don't  want  to  make 
any  mysteries  about  the  business. 
I  disdain  that  sort  of  artifice.  In  the 
days  of  the  old  three-volume  novels, 
did  n't  you  always  look  at  the  end,  to 
see  that  Louisa  and  the  earl  (or  young 
clergyman,  as  the  case  might  be) 
were  happy  1  If  they  died,  or  met 
with  other  grief,  for  my  part  I  put 
the  book  away.  This  pair,  then,  are 
well ;  are  married ;  are,  I  trust, 
happy :  but  before  they  married  and 
afterwards,  they  had  great  griefs  and 
troubles  ;  as  no  doubt  you  have  had, 
dear  sir  or  madam,  since  yon  under- 
went that  ceremony.  Married  ?  Of 
course  they  are.  Do  you  suppose  I 
would  have  allowed  little  Charlotte 
to  meet  Philip  in  the  Champs 
Elyse'es  with  only  a  giddy  little 
boy  of  a  brother  for  a  companion, 
who  would  turn  away  to  see  Punch, 
Guignol,  the  soldiers  marching  by, 
the  old  woman's  gingerbread  and 
toffy  stall  and  so  forth  ?  Do  you,  I 
say,  suppose  I  would  have  allowed 
those  two  to  go  oat  together,  onlesA 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


259 


they  were  to  be  married  afterwards  ? 
Out  walking  together  they  did  go  ; 
and,  once,  as  they  were  arm-in-arm 
in  the  Champs  Elysees,  whom  should 
they  see  in  a  fine  open  carriage  but 
young  Twysden  and  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Woolcomb,  to  whom,  as  they  passed, 
Philip  doffed  his  hat  with  a  profound 
bow,  and  whom  he  further  saluted 
with  a  roar  of  immense  laughter. 
Woolcomb  must  have  heard  the  peal. 
I  dare  say  it  brought  a  little  blush 
into  Mrs.  Woolcomb's  cheek ;  and  — 
and  so,  no  doubt,  added  to  the  many 
attractions  of  that  elegant  lady.  I 
have  no  secrets  about  my  characters, 
and  speak  my  mind  about  them  quite 
freely.  They  said  that  Woolcomb 
was  the  most  jealous,  stingy,  osten- 
tatious, cruel  little  brute ;  that  he 
led  his  wife  a  dismal  life.  Well  ?  If 
he  did'i  I'm  sure,  I  don't  care. 
"  There  ig  that  swaggering  bankrupt 
beggar  Firmin  ! "  cries  the  tawny 
bridegroom,  biting  his  mustache. 
"  Impudent  ragged  blackguard,"  says 
Twysden  minor,  "  I  saw  him." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  stop  the  car- 
riage, and  abuse  him  to  himself,  and 
not  to  me  ? "  says  Mrs.  Woolcomb, 
languidly,  flinging  herself  back  on 
her  cushions. 

"  Go  on,  hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  ! " 
cry  the  gentlemen  in  the  carriage  to 
the  laquais  de  place  on  the  box. 

"  I  can  fancy  you  don't  care  about 
seeing  him,"  resumes  Mrs.  Woolcomb. 
"  He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I 
would  not  have  you  quarrel  for  the 
world."  So  I  suppose  Woolcomb 
again  swears  at  the  laquais  de  place  : 
and  the  happy  couple,  as  the  saying 
is,  roll  away  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

"  What  makes  you  laugh  so  ?  " 
says  little  Charlotte,  fondly,  as  she 
trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"  Because  I  am  so  happy,  my  near- 
est ! "  says  the  other,  squeezing  to  his 
heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his 
arm.  As  he  thinks  on  yonder  woman, 
and  then  looks  into  the  pure  eager_ 
face  of  the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the 
scornful  laughter  occasioned  by  the 
§udden  meeting  which  is  just  over 


hushes  ;  and  an  immense  feeling  of 
thankfulness  fills  the  breast  of  the 
young  man  :  —  thankfulness  for  the 
danger  from  which  he  has  escaped, 
and  for  the  blessed  prize  which  has 
fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were  not  to  be 
all  as  pleasant  as  this  walk  ;  and  we 
are  now  coming  to  a  history  of  wet, 
slippery  roads,  bad  times,  and  winter 
weather.  All  I  can  promise  about  this 
gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a 
long  story.  You  will  acknowledge 
we  made  very  short  work  with  the 
love-making,  which  I  give  you  my 
word  I  consider  to  be  the  very  easiest 
part  of  the  novel-writer's  business.  As 
those  rapturous  scenes  between  the 
captain  and  the  heroine  are  going  on, 
a  writer  who  knows  his  business  may 
be  thinking  about  anything  else,  — 
about  the  ensuing  chapter,  or  about 
what  he  is  going  to  have  for  dinner, 
or  what  you  will ;  therefore,  as  we 
passed  over  the  raptures  and  joys  of 
the  courting  so  very  curtly,  you  must 
please  to  gratify  me  by  taking  the 
grief  in  a  very  short  measure.  If  our 
young  people  are  going  to  suffer,  let 
the  pain  bo  soon  over.  "  Sit  down  in 
the  chair,  Miss  Bayucs,  if  you  please, 
and  you  Mr.  Firmin,  in  this.  Allow 
me  to  examine  you ;  just  open  your 
mouth,  if  you  please;  and — 0,  O, 
my  dear  Miss  —  there  it  is  out !  A 
little  eau-de-Cologne  and  water,  my 
dear.  And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if  you 
please,  we  will  —  what  fangs  !  what  a 
big  one  !  Two  guineas.  Thank  you. 
Good  morning.  Come  to  me  once  a 
year.  John,  show  in  the  next  party." 
About  the  ensuing  painful  business, 
then,  I  protest  I  don't  intend  to  be 
much  longer  occupied  than  the  humane 
and  dexterous  operator  to  whom  I 
have  made  so  bold  as  to  liken  myself. 
If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a 
tooth  out,  it  shall  be  removed  as  gently 
as  possible,  poor  dear.  As  for  Philip, 
and  his  great  red-bearded  jaw,  I  don  t 
care  so  much  if  the  tug  makes  him 
roar  a  little.  And  yet  they  remain, 
they  remain  and  throb  in  after  life, 
those  wounds  of  early  days.     Have  I 


2  GO 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


not  said  how,  as  I  chanced  to  walk 
with  Mr.  Firmin  in  Paris,  many  years 
after  the  domestic  circumstances  here 
recorded,  he  paused  before  the  window 
of  that  house  near  the  Champs  Elysees 
where  Madame  Smolensk  once  held 
her  jiension,  shook  his  fist  at  a  jalousie 
of  the  now  dingy  and  dilapidated 
mansion,  and  intimated  to  me  that 
he  had  undergone  severe  sufferings  in 
the  chamber  lighted  by  yonder  win- 
dow ?  So  have  we  all  suffered ;  so, 
very  likely,  my  dear  young  Miss  or 
Master  who  peruses  this  modest  page, 
will  you  have  to  suffer  in  your  time. 
You  will  not  die  of  the  operation, 
most  probably  :  but  it  is  painful :  it 
makes  a  gap  in  the  mouth,  voyez-vous  f 
and  years  and  years,  maybe,  after,  as 
you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed, 
and  the  dismal  tragedy  enacts  itself 
over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go 
out,  to  dance,  to  laugh,  to  be  admired, 
to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she 
told  him  of  her  balls,  her  tea-parties,  j 
her  pleasures,  her  partners.  In  a  girl's  j 
first  little  season  nothing  escapes  her. 
Have  you  not  wondered  to  hear  them 
tell  about  the  events  of  the  evening, 
about  the  dresses  of  the  dowagers, 
about  the  compliments  of  the  young 
men,  about  the  behavior  of  the  girls, 
and  what  not  ? 

Little  Charlotte  used  to  enact  the 
overnight's  comedy  for  Philip,  pour- 
ing out  her  young  heart  in  her  prattle 
as  her  little  feet  skijjped  by  his  side. 
And  to  hear  Philip  roar  with  laughter ! 
It  would  have  done  you  good.  You 
might  have  heard  him  from  the  Obelisk 
to  the  Etoile.  People  turned  round 
to  look  at  him,  and  shrugged  their 
shoulders  wonderingly,  as  good- 
natured  French  folks  will  do.  How 
could  a  man  who  had  been  lately 
ruined,  a  ma.n  who  had  just  been  dis- 
appointed of  a  great  legacy  from  the 
Earl  his  great-uncle,  a  man  whose 
boots  were  in  that  lamentable  con- 
dition, laugh  so,  and  have  such  high 
spirits  ?  To  think  of  such  an  impu- 
dent ragged  blackguard,  as  Ringwood 
Twysden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to 


be  happy !  The  fact  is,  that  clap  of 
laughter  smote  those  three  Twysden 
people  like  three  boxes  on  the  ear, 
and  made  all  their  cheeks  tingle  and 
blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment 
clouds  which  had  come  over  Char- 
lotte's sweet  face  would  be  chased 
away.  As  she  clung  to  him  doubts 
which  throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart 
would  vanish.  When  she  was  acting 
those  scenes  of  the  past  night's  enter- 
tainment, she  was  not  always  happy. 
As  she  talked  and  prattled,  her  own 
spirits  would  rise ;  and  hope  and 
natural  joy  would  spring  in  her  heart 
again,  and  come  flushing  up  to  her 
cheek.  Charlotte  was  being  a  hypo- 
crite, as,  thank  Heaven,  all  good 
women  sometimes  are.  She  had 
griefs  :  she  hid  them  from  him.  She 
had  doubts  and  fears  :  they  fled  when 
he  came  in  view,  and  she  clung  to  his 
strong  arm,  and  looked  in  his  honest 
blue  eyes.  She  did  not  tell  him  of 
those  puinful  niglits  when  her  eyes 
were  wakeful  and  tearful.  A  yellow 
old  woman  in  a  white  jacket,  with  a 
nightcap  and  a  night-light,  would 
come,  night  after  night,  to  the  side  of 
her  little  bed ;  and  there  stand,  and 
with  her  grim  voice  bark  against 
Philip.  That  old  woman's  lean  finger 
would  point  to  ail  the  rents  in  poor 
Philip's  threadbare  paletot  of  a  char- 
acter,—  point  to  the  holes  and  tear 
them  wider  open.  She  would  stamp  on 
those  muddy  boots.  She  would  throw 
up  her  peaked  nose  at  the  idea  of  the 
poor  fellow's  pipe,  —  his  pipe,  his 
great  companion  and  comforter  when 
his  dear  little  mistress  was  away. 
She  would  discourse  on  the  partners 
of  the  night ;  the  evident  attentions 
of  this  gentleman,  the  politeness  and 
high  breeding  of  that. 

And  when  that  dreary  nightly  tor- 
ture'was  over  and  Charlotte's  mother 
had  left  the  poor  child  to  herself, 
sometimes  Madame  Smolensk,  sitting 
up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills,  and 
wakeful  with  her  own  cares,  would 
steal  up  and  console  poor  Charlotte ; 
and  bring  her  some  tisane,  excellent 
for  the  nerves ;  and  talk  to  her  about. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


261 


—  about  the  subject  of  which  Char- 
lotte best  liked  to  hear.  And  thouah 
Smolensk  was  civil  to  Mrs.  Hayucs 
in  the  morning,  as  her  profes^siuii.il 
duty  obliged  her  to  be,  she  has  o\\'ned 
that  she  often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle 
Madame  la  Ge'ne'rale  for  her  conduct 
to  her  little  angel  of  a  daughter ; 
and  all  because  Monsieur  Philippe 
smells  the  pipe,  parbleu  !  "  What  '.  a 
family  that  owes  you  the  bread  which 
they  eat ;  and  they  draw  back  for  a 
pipe !  The  cowards,  the  cowards ! 
A  soldier's  daughter  is  not  afraid  of  it. 
Merci !  Tenez,  M.  Philippe,"  she 
said  to  our  friend  when  matters  came 
to  an  extreniit}'.  "  Do  you  know 
what  in  your  place  I  would  do  ?  To 
a  Frenchman  I  would  not  say  so ; 
that  understands  itself.  But  these 
things  make  themselves  otherwise  in 
England.  I  have  no  money,  but  I 
have  a  cachemire.  Take  him ;  and 
if  I  were  you,  I  would  make  a  little 
voyage  to  Gretna  Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  wi'.l 
quit  the  Champs  Elysees.  We  will 
cross  the  road  from  madame's  board- 
ing-house. We  will  make  our  way 
into  the  Faubourg  St  Honore,  anil 
actually  enter  a  gate  over  which 
the  L-on,  the  Un-c-m,  and  the 
R-y-1  Cr-wn  and  A-ms  of  the 
Three  K-ngd-ms  are  sculptured, 
and  going  under  the  porte-cochere, 
and  turning  to  the  right,  ascend  a 
little  stair,  and  ask  of  the  attendant 
on  the  landing,  who  is  in  the  chan- 
cellerie  ?  The  attendant  says,  that 
several  of  those  messieurs  y  sont.  In 
fact.  On  entering  the  room,  yon  find 
Mr.  Motcomb,  —  let  us  say, — Mr. 
I^wnde<,  Mr.  Halkin,  and  our  young 
frietid  Mr.  Walsingham  Hely,  seated 
at  their  respective  tables  in  the  midst 
of  considerable  smoke.  Smoking  in 
the  midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and 
bestriding  his  chair,  as  though  it  were 
his  horse,  sits  that  gallant  young 
Irish  chieftain.  The  O'Rourke.  Some 
of  the  gciuleiaen  are  copying,  in  a 
large  handwriting,  despatches  on 
foolscap  paper.  I  would  rather  be 
torn  to  pieces  by  O'Rourke's  wildest 


horses,  than  be  understood  to  hint  at 
wliat  tliosc  ilcs])atchos,  at  what  tliose 
despatch  -  boxes  contain.  Perhaps 
they  contain  some  news  from  the 
Court  of  Spain,  where  some  intrigues 
are  carried  on,  a  knowledge  of  which 
would  make  your  hair  start  off  your 
head  ;  perhaps  that  box,  lor  which  a 
messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neighboring 
apartment,  has  locked  up  twenty-four 
yards  of  Chantilly  lace  for  Lady 
Belweather,  and  six  new  French 
farces  for  Tom  Tiddler  of  the  Foreign 
Office,  who  is  mad  about  the  theatre. 
It  is  years  and  years  ago  ;  how  should 
I  know  what  there  is  in  those  de- 
spatch-boxes ? 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be, 
is  not  very  pressing,  —  for  there  is 
only  Mr.  Chesham,  —  did  I  say  Ches- 
ham  before,  by  the  way  ?  You  may 
call  him  Mr.  Sloanestrcetif  you  like. 
There  is  only  Chesham  (and  he  al- 
ways takes  things  to  the  grand 
serious)  who  seems  to  be  much  en- 
gaged in  writing ;  and  the  conversa- 
tion goes  on. 

"  Who  gave  it  ?  "  asks  Motcomb. 

"  The  black  man  of  course,  gave 
it.  We  would  not  pretend  to  compete 
with  such  a  long  purse  as  his.  You 
should  have  seen  what  faces  he  made 
at  the  bill !  Thirty  francs  a  bottle 
for  Rhine  wine.  He  grinned  with  the 
most  horrible  agony  when  he  read  the 
addition.  He  almost  turned  yellow. 
He  sent  away  his  wife  early.  How 
long  that  girl  was  hanging  about 
London  ;  and  think  of  her  hooking  a 
millionnaire  at  last !  Othello  is  a 
frightful  screw,  and  diabolically  jeal- 
ous of  his  wife." 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  little 
man  who  got  so  dismally  drunk, 
and  began  to  cry  about  old  Ring- 
wood  ? " 

"  Twysden,  —  the  woman's  brother. 
Don't  you  know  Humbug  Twysden, 
the  father  ?  The  youth  is  more  of- 
fensive than  the  parent." 

"A  most  disgusting  little  beast. 
Would  come  to  the  Varietes,  bccau.^o 
we  said  we  were  going :  would  go 
to  Lamoignon's,  where  tha  Russians 


262 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


gave  a  dance  and  a  lansquenet.  Why 
did  n't  you  come,  Hely  1  " 

Mr.  Hely.  I  tell  you  I  hate  the 
whole  thing.  Those  painted  old  ac- 
tresses give  me  the  horrors.  What 
do  I  want  with  winning  Motcomb's 
money  who  has  n't  got  any  ?  Do 
you  think  it  gives  me  any  pleasure  to 
dance  with  old  Caradol  ?  She  puts 
me  in  mind  of  my  grandmother,  — 
only  she  is  older.  Do  you  think  I 
want  to  go  and  see  that  insane  old 
Boutzoff  leering  at  Corinne  and  Pal- 
myrine,  and  making  a  group  of  three 
old  women  together !  1  wonder  how 
you  fellows  can  go  on.  Are  n't  you 
tired  of  truffles  and  ecrevisses  a  la  Bor- 
delaise;  and  those  old  opera  people, 
whose  withered  old  carcasses  are 
stuffed  with  them  ? 

The  O'R.  There  was  C^risette,  I 
give  ye  me  honor.  Ye  never  saw. 
She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.    In  her  hwhat,  O'R.  ? 

The  O'R.  Well,  in  her  chaik  then  ! 
And  FigaroiF  smayred  her  feece  all 
over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Char- 
lotte Roose.  She's  a  regular  bird 
and  mustache,  you  know,  Ce'risette 
has. 

Mr.  Hely.  Charlotte,  Charlotte! 
Oh !  (He  dutches  his  hair  madly.  His 
elbows  are  on  the  table.) 

Mr.  Lowndes.  It's  that  girl  he 
meets  at  the  tea-parties,  where  he 
goes  to  Ix;  admired. 

Mr.  Hely.  It  is  better  to  drink  tea 
than,  like  you  fellows,  to  muddle 
what  brains  you  have  with  bad  cham- 
pagne. It  is  better  to  look,'  and  to 
hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance  with  a 
modest  girl,  than,  like  you  fellows,  to 
l>e  capering  about  in  taverns  with 
painted  old  hags  like  that  old  Ce'ri- 
sette, who  has  got  a  face  like  a  pomme 
cuite,  and  who  danced  before  Lord 
Malmesbury  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens. 
She  did,  I  tell  you;  and  before  Na- 
poleon. 

Mr.  Chesham.  {Looks  tip  from  his 
loriting.)  There  was  no  Napoleon 
then.  It  is  of  no  consequence, 
but  — 

Lowndes.    Thank  you,  I  owe  you 


one.  You're  a  most  valuable  man, 
Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  your  father 
and  mother. 

Mr.  Chesham.  Well,  the  First  Con- 
sul was  Bonaparte. 

Lowndes.  I  am  obliged  to  you.  I 
say  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Chesham, 
and  if  you  would  like  any  refresh- 
ment order  it  meis  sumptibus,  old 
boy,  —  at  my  expense. 

Chesham.  These  fellows  will  never 
be  serious.     {He  resumes  his  writing. ) 

Hely.  (Iterum,  but  v&y  low.)  O 
Charlotte,  Char 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Hely  is  raving  about 
that  girl,  —  that  girl  with  the  horrible 
old  mother  in  yellow,  don't  you  re- 
member ?  and  old  father,  —  good  old 
military  party,  in  a  shabby  old 
coat,  —  who  was  at  the  last  ball. 
What  was  the  name?  O'Rourke, 
what  is  the  rhyme  for  Baynes  t 

The  O'R.  Pays,  and  be  hanged  to 
you.  You  're  always  makin'  fun  on 
me,  vou  little  cockney  ! 

ji/r.  Motcomb.  Hely  was  just  as 
bad  about  the  Danish  girl.  You 
know,  Walse,  you  composed  ever  so 
many  verses  to  her,  and  wrote  home 
to  your  mother  to  ask  leave  to  marry 
her ! 

The  O'R.  I  'd  think  him  big  enough 
to  marry  without  anybody's  leave,  — 
only  they  would  n't  have  him  because 
he 's  so  ugly. 

Mr.  Hely.  Very  good,  O'Rourke. 
Very  neat  and  good.  You  were  di- 
verting the  company  with  an  anec- 
dote.    Will  you  proceed  1 

The  O'R.  Well,  then,  the  Ce'risette 
had  been  dancing  both  on  and  olF  the 
stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  I  sup- 
pose, and  so  she  fell  dead  asleep,  and 
FigarofF,  taking  the  what-d'ye-call-'em 
out  of  the  Charlotte  Roose,  smayred 
her  fiice  all  — 

Voice  without.  Deet  Mosho  Ring- 
wood  TwYSDEN,  sivoplay,  poor 
I'honorable  Moshoo  Lownds  ! 

Servant.   Monsieur  Twysden  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  Mr.  Lowndes,  how 
are  you  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Very  well,  thank 
you ;  how  are  you  1 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


263 


Mr.  Hely.  Lowndes  is  uncommonly 
brilliant  to-day. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Not  the  worse  for 
last  night  ?  Some  of  us  were  a  little 
elevated,  I  think ! 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Some  of  us  quite  the 
reverse.  (Little  cad,  what  does  he 
want?  Elevated!  he  could  n't  keep 
his  little  legs !) 

Mr.  Twysden.  Eh !  Smoking,  I 
see.  Thank  you.  I  very  seldom  do, 
—  but  as  you  are  so  kind,  —  putf. 
Eh,  —  uncommonly  handsome  per- 
son that,  eh,  —  Madame  Ce'risette. 

The  aR.   Thank  ye  for  telling  us. 

Mr.  Loumdes.  If  she  meets  with 
your  applause,  Mr.  Twysden,  I  should 
think  Mademoiselle  Cerisette  is  all 
right. 

The  (TR.  Maybe  they'd  raise 
her  salarv  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Heh, — I  see  you 're 
chaffing  me.  We  have  a  good  deal 
of  that  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset,  — 
in  our  —  in  —  hem  !  This  tobacco 
is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a  little  shaky 
this  morning.  Who,  by  the  way,  is 
tliat  Prince  BoutzofF  who  played 
lansquenet  with  us  ?  Is  he  one  of 
the  Livonian  BoutzofFs,  or  one  of  the 
Hessian  BoutzofFs  ?  I  remember  at 
my  poor  uncle's.  Lord  Ringwood, 
meeting  a  Prince  Blucher  de  Bout- 
zoff",  something  like  this  man,  by  the 
way.     You  knew  my  poor  uncle  "? 

Mr.  Ij>wndes.  Dined  with  him  here 
three  months  ago  at  the  "  Trois 
Freres." 

Mr.  Twysden.  Been  at  Whipham, 
I  dare  say  ?  I  was  bred  up  there. 
It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have 
been  his  heir  He  was  very  fond  of 
me.     He  was  my  godfather. 

The  O'R.  Then  he  gave  you  a 
mug,  and  it  was  n't  a  beauty  {sotto 
voce ) . 

Mr.  Twysden.  You  said  some- 
thin  '  ?  I  was  speaking  of  Whipham, 
Mr.  Lowndes,  —  one  of  the  finest 
places  in  England,  I  should  say,  ex- 
cept Chatsworth,  you  know,  and  thnt 
sort  of  thing.  My  grandfather  built 
it,  —  I  mean  my  yreat  grandfather, 
for  I  'm  of  the  Ringwood  family. 


Mr.  Lowndes.  Then  was  Lord 
Rintcwood  your  grandfather,  or  your 
grand-godfather? 

Mr.  Twysden.  He !  he  !  My  moth- 
er was  his  own  niece.  My  grand- 
father was   his   own   brother,    and  I 


Thank  you.     I  see 


am  — 

Mr.  Lowndes 
now. 

Mr.  Halkin.  Das  ist  sehr  interes- 
sant.  Ich  vcrsichere  ihnen  das  ist 
SEHR  interessant. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Said  somethin'  ? 
(This  cigar  is  really  —  I  '11  throw  it 
away,  please.)  I  was  saying  that  at 
Whipham,  where  I  was  bred  up,  we 
would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and  as  many 
more  in  the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  And  you  dined  in 
the  —  you  had  pretty  good  dinners  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  A  French  chef. 
Two  aids,  besides  turtle  from  town. 
Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the 
establishment,  besides  kitchen-maids, 
roasters,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you 
imderstand.  How  many  have  you 
here  now  ?  In  Lord  Estridge's 
kitchen  you  can't  do,  I  should  say, 
at  least  without  —  let  me  see  — 
why,  in  our  small  way  —  and  if  you 
come  to  London  my  father  will  be 
dev'lish  glad  to  see  you, —  we  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  How  is  Mrs.  Wool- 
comb  this  morning?  That  was  a  fair 
dinner  Woolcomb  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mr.  Ttrysden.  He  has  plenty  of 
money,  plenty  of  money.  1  hoj)e, 
Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town,  — 
the  first  time  you  come,  mind,  —  to 
give  you  a  hearty  welcome  and  some 
of  my  father's  old  por — 

Mr.  Hely.  Will  nobody  kick  this 
little  beast  out  ? 

Servant.  Monsieur  Chesham  peut- 
il  voir  M.  Firmin  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  Certainly.  Come 
in,  Firmin  ! 

Mr.  TiL-ysden.  Mr.  Fearmang,  — ; 
Mr.  Fir —  Mr.  who  ?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you  receive  that  fellow, 
Mr.  Chesham  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  What  fellow  ?  and 
what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  What-d'ye- 
call-'im  ? 


2G4 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Mr.    Twysden.    That  blackg O 

—  that  is,  I  —  I  beg  your  — 

Mr.  Firmiii  (entering  and  going  up 
to  Mr.  Cheshain ).  —  I  say,  give  me  a 
bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  were 
you  saying  about  tliat  —  hum  and 
hum  and  haw,  —  may  n't  I  have  it  ? 
(He  is  talking  confidentially  with  Mr. 
Chesham,  when  he  sees  Mr.  Twysden.) 
What !  you  have  got  that  little  cad 
here  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  You  know  Mr.  Twys- 
den, Mr.  Firmin.  He  was  just  speak- 
ing about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  Was  he  ?  So  much 
the  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Sir  !  We  don't 
speak.  You  've  no  right  to  speak  to 
me  in  this  manner  !  Don't  speak  to 
me :  and  I  won't  speak  to  you,  sir, 

—  there!  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lown- 
des !  Rcmeml>er  your  promise  to 
come  and  dine  with  us  when  you 
come   to   town.     And  —  one    word, 

—  (he  holds  Mr.  LowiuLs  by  the  but- 
ton. By  the  wail,  lie  has  very  curious 
resemblances  to  Twysden  senior),  —  we 
shall  be  here  for  ten  days  certainly. 
I  tliink  Lady  Hstridge  has  something 
next  week.  I  have  left  our  cards, 
and  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Take  care.  He 
will  be  there  (pointing  to  Mr.  Firmin). 

Mr.  Twysden.  What?  That  beg- 
gar ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  Lord 
Estridge  will  receive  such  a  fellow  as 

—  Good  by,  good  by!  (Exit  Mr. 
Twysden.) 

Mr.  Firmin.  I  caught  that  little 
fellow's  eye.  He  's  my  cousin,  you 
know.  We  have  had  a  quarrel.  I 
am  sure  he  was  speaking  about  me. 

Mr.  Ijowndes.  Well,  now  you  men- 
tion it,  he  was  speaking  about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  Was  he  1  Then  don't 
believe  him,  Mr.  Lowndes,  That  is 
my  advice. 

}[r.  Hdy  (at  his  desk  composing). 
"  Maiden  of  the  blushing  cheek,  maid- 
en of  t:ie  —   O  Charlotte,  Char " 

ho  bites  his  ])en  and  dashes  off  rapid 
rhymes  on  government  paper. 

Mr.  Firmin.  What  does  he  say  ? 
Ho  said  Charlotte. 


Mr.  L^ivndes.  He  is  always  in  love 
and  breaking  his  heart,  and  lie  puts 
it  into  j)oems ;  he  wraps  it  up  in 
paper,  and  falls  in  love  with  some- 
body else.  Sit  down  and  smoke  n 
cigar,  won't  you  ? 

Air.  Firmin.  Can't  stay.  Musit 
make  up  my  letter.  We  print  to- 
morrow. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Who  wrote  that  ar- 
ticle pitching  into  Peel  1 

Mr.  Firmin.  Family  secret  —  can't 
say  —  good  by.     (Exit  Mr.  Firmin.) 

Mr.  Chesham.  In  my  opinion  a 
most  ill-advised  and  intemperate  ar- 
ticle. That  journal,  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  indulges  in  a  very  needless 
acrimony,  I  think. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Chesham  does  not 
like  to  call  a  spade  a  spade.  He 
calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You 
have  a  great  career  before  you, 
Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  anc\ 
gravity  beyond  your  years.  You  bore 
us  slightly,  but  wc  all  respect  you,  — 
we  do  indeed.  What  was  the  text  at 
church  last  Sunday?  O,  by  the 
wiy,  Hely,  you  little  miscreant,  you 
were  at  church  ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  You  need  not  blush, 
Hely.  I  am  not  a  joking  man  ;  but 
this  kind  of  jesting  docs  not  strike 
me  as  being  particularly  amusing, 
Lowndes. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  You  go  to  church 
because  you  are  good,  because  your 
aunt  was  a  bishop  or  something. 
But  Hely  goes  because  be  is  a  little 
miscreant.  You  hypocritical  little 
Ixiggfir,  you  got  yourself  up  as  if  you 
were  going  to  ■.\d(!Jetuier,a.rn\  you  had 
your  hair  curled,  and  you  were  seen 
singing  out  of  the  same  hymn-book 
witli  that  pretty  Miss  Bayncs,  you 
little  wheedling  sinner  ;  and  you 
w:ilked  home  with  the  family — my 
sisters  saw  you  —  to  a  boarding- 
house  where  they  live  —  by  Jove ! 
you  did.     And  I  '11  tell  your  mother ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  I  wish  you  would 
not  make  such  a  noise,  and  let  me  do 
my  work,  Lowndes.     You  — 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of 
the  room,  and  we  lose  the  rest  of  the 


THE  ADVENTUnrS   OF   rillLIP 


265 


young  men's  conversation.  But 
enough  has  been  overheard,  I  think, 
to  show  what  direction  young  Mr. 
Hely's  thoughts  had  taken.  Since  he 
was  seventeen  years  of  age  (at  the 
time  when  we  behold  him  he  may  be 
tvventj'-three),  this  romantic  youth 
has  lieen  repeatedly  in  love :  with 
his  elderly  tutor's  daughter,  of  course  ; 
with  a  young  haberdasher  at  the  Uni- 
versity ;  with  his  sister's  confidential 
friend ;  with  the  blooming  young 
Danish  beauty  last  year  ;  and  now,  I 
very  much  fear,  a  young  acquaint- 
ance of  ours  has  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  this  imaginative  Don  Juan. 
Whenever  Hely  is  in  love,  he  fancies 
his  passion  will  last  forever,  makes 
a  confidant  of  the  first  person  at 
hand,  weeps  plenteously,  and  writes 
reams  of  verses.  Do  you  remember 
how  in  a  previous  chapter  wc  told  you 
that  Mrs.  Tuffin  was  determined  she 
would  not  ask  Philip  to  her  soirees, 
and  declared  him  to  lie  a  forward  and 
disagreeable  young  man  ?  She  was 
glad  enough  to  receive  young  Wal- 
singham  Hely,  with  his  languid  air, 
his  drooping  head,  his  fair  curls,  and 
his  flower  in  his  button-hole ;  and 
Hely,  being  then  in  hot  pursuit  of  one 
of  the  tall  Miss  Blaeklocks,  went  to 
Mrs.  Tuffin's,  was  welcomed  there 
*ith  all  the  honors ;  and  there,  flut- 
tering away  from  Miss  Blackloek, 
our  butterfly  lighted  on  Miss  Baynes. 
Now  Miss  Baynes  would  have  danced 
with  a  mopstick,  she  was  so  fond  of 
dancing  :  and  Hely,  who  had  prac- 
tised in  a  thousand  Chaumiercs, 
Mabilles  (or  whatever  was  the  public 
dance-room  then  in  vogue),  was  a 
most  amiable,  agile,  and  excellent 
partner.  And  she  told  Philip  next 
day  what  a  nice  little  partner  she  had 
found, — poor  Philip,  who  was  not 
asked  to  that  paradise  of  a  party. 
And  Philip  said  that  he  knew  the 
little  man  ;  that  he  believed  he  was 
rich ;  that  he  wrote  pretty  little 
verses :  —  in  a  word,  Philip,  in  his 
leonine  ways,  regarded  little  Hely  as 
a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 
Now  this  little  Slyboots  had  a 
12 


thousand  artful  little  ways.  He  had 
a  very  keen  .scnsil)ility  nnd  a  fine 
taste,  which  was  most  ix'udily  touched 
by  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had 
tears,  I  won't  say  at  command ;  for 
they  were  under  no  command,  and 
gushed  from  his  fine  eyes  in  spite  of 
himself.  Charlotte's  innocence  and 
freshness  smote  him  with  a  keen 
pleasure.  Bon  Dieu  !  What  was 
that  great  tall  Miss  Blackloek  who 
had  tramped  through  a  thousand 
ball-rooms,  compared  to  this  artless, 
hap])y  creature  ?  He  danced  aM  ay 
from  Miss  Blackloek  and  after  Char- 
lotte the  moment  he  saw  our  young 
friend  ;  and  the  Blaeklocks,  who  knew 
all  about  him,  and  his  money,  and  his 
mother,  and  his  expectations,  —  who 
had  his  verses  in  their  jioor  album, 
by  whose  can-jage  he  had  caj^ered 
d;iy  after  day  in  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, —  stood  scowling  and  deserted, 
as  this  young  fellow  danced  off  with 
that  Miss  Baynes,  who  lived  in  .a 
boiirding-house,  and  came  to  i)arties 
in  a  cab  with  her  liorrid  old  mother! 
The  Blaeklocks  were  as  though  they 
were  not  henceforth  for  Mr.  Hely. 
They  asked  him  to  dinner.  Bless 
my  soul,  he  utterly  forgot  all  about 
it !  He  never  came  to  their  box  on 
their  night  at  the  opera.  Iv'ot  one 
twinge  of  renujrse  had  he.  Not  one 
pang  of  remembrance.  If  he  did  re- 
member them,  it  was  when  they  I  ored 
him,  like  those  tall  tragic  women  in 
black  who  are  always  coming  in  their 
great  long  trains  to  sing  sermons  to 
Don  Juan.  Ladies,  your  name  is 
down  in  his  Lordship's  catalogue  ;  his 
servant  has  it;  and  you,  Miss  Anna, 
are  number  one  thonsanil  and  three. 
But  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is 
a  different  affair.  What  innocence  ! 
What  a  fraicheur !  AVhat  a  merry 
good  -  humor  !  Don  Slyboots  is 
touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested  : 
her  artless  voice  thrills  through  his 
frame  ;  he  trembles  as  he  waltzes 
with  her  ;  as  his  fine  eyes  look  at  her, 
psha  !  what  is  that  film  coming  over 
them  ?  O  Slyboots,  Slyboots  !  And, 
as  she  has   nothing  to  conceal,  she 


266 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


has  told  him  all  he  wants  to  know 
before  long.  This  is  her  first  win- 
ter in  Paris  :  her  first  season  of 
coming  out.  She  has  only  been  to 
two  balls  before,  and  two  plays  and 
an  opera.  And  her  father  met  Mr. 
Hcly  at  Lord  Trim's.  That  was  her 
father  playing  at  whist.  And  they 
lived  ac  Madame  Smolensk's  board- 
ing-house in  the  Champs  Elysees. 
And  they  had  been  to  Mr.  Dash's, 
and  to  Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed 
they  were  going  to  Mrs.  Star's  on 
Priday.  And  did  they  go  to  church  ? 
Of  course  they  went  to  church,  to  the 
Rue  d'Aguesseau,  or  wherever  it 
might  be.  And  Slyboots  went  to 
church  next  Sunday.  You  may  per- 
haps guess  to  what  church.  And  he 
went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he 
sang  his  own  songs,  accompanying 
himself  on  the  guitar,  at  his  lodgings. 
And  he  sang  elsewhere.  And  he  had 
a  very  pretty  little  voice,  Slyboots 
had.  I  believe  those  poems  under 
the  common  title  of  "  Gretchen  "  in 
our  Walsingham's  charming  volume 
were  all  inspired  by  Miss  Baynes. 
He  began  to  write  about  her  and 
himself  the  verj'  first  night  after  see- 
ing her.  He  smoked  cigarettes,  and 
drank  green  tea.  He  looked  so  pale 
—  so  pale  ami  sad  that  he  quite  pitied 
himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his 
apartments  in  the  Rue  Miromenil. 
And  he  compared  himself  to  a 
wrecked  mariner,  and  to  a  grave,  and 
to  a  man  entranced  and  brought  to 
life.  And  he  cried  quite  freely  and 
satisfactorily  by  himself.  And  he 
went  to  see  his  mother  and  sister 
next  day  at  the  "  Hotel  de  la  Ter- 
rasse,"  and  cried  to  them  and  said 
he  was  in  love  this  time  forever  and 
ever.  And  his  sister  called  him  a 
goose.  And  after  crying  he  ate  an 
uncommonly  good  dinner.  And  he 
took  every  one  into  his  confidence,  as 
he  always  did  whenever  he  was  in 
love:  always  telling,  always  making 
verses,  and  always  crying.  As  for 
Miss  Blacklock,  he  buried  the  dead 
body  of  that  love  deep  in  the  ocean 
of  his  soult      The  waves  engulfed 


Miss  B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The 
storm  went  down.  And  the  stars 
rose,  and  the  dawn  was  in  his  soul, 
&c.  Well,  well !  The  mother  was  a 
vulgar  woman,  and  I  am  glad  you 
are  out  of  it  And  what  sort  of  peo- 
ple are  General  Baynes  and  Mrs. 
Baynes  ? 

"  O,  delightful  people!  Most  dis- 
tinguished officer,  the  father ;  modest 
—  does  n't  say  a  word.  The  mother, 
a  most  lively,  brisk,  agreeable  woman. 
You  must  go  and  see  her,  ma'am. 
I  desire  you  '11  go  immediately." 

"  And  leave  cards  with  P.  P.  C. 
for  the  Miss  Blacklocks !  "  says  Miss 
Hely,  who  was  a  plain,  lively  person. 
And  both  mother  and  sister  spoiled 
this  young  Hely ;  as  women  ought 
always  to  spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a 
father,  husband,  grandfather,  —  any 
male  relative,  in  a  word. 

To  sec  this  spoiled  son  married 
was  the  good-natured  mother's  fond 
prayer.  An  eldest  son  had  died  a 
rake ;  a  victim  to  too  much  money, 
pleasure,  idleness.  The  widowed 
mother  would  give  anything  to  save 
this  one  from  the  career  through 
which  the  other  had  passed.  The 
young  man  would  be  one  day  so 
wealthy  that  she  knew  many  and 
many  a  schemer  would  try  ami  en- 
trap him.  Perhaps  she  had  licen 
made  to  marry  his  father  because  he 
was  rich ;  and  she  remembered  the 
gloom  and  wretchedness  of  her  own 
union.  O  that  she  could  see  her  son 
out  of  temptation,  and  the  husband 
of  an  honest  girl !  It  was  the  young 
lady's  first  season  1  So  much  the 
more  likely  that  she  should  be  un- 
worldly. "  The  General  —  don't  you 
remember  a  nice  old  gentleman  —  in 
a  —  well,  in  a  wig — tliat  day  we 
dined  at  Lord  Trim's,  when  that  hor- 
rible old  Lord  Ringwood  was  there  t 
That  was  General  Baynes ;  and  he 
broke  out  so  enthusiastically  in  de- 
fence of  a  poor  young  man,  —  Dr. 
Firmin's  son,  — who  was  a  bad  man, 
I  believe ;  but  I  shall  never  have  con- 
fidence in  another  doctor  again,  that 
1  sha'  n't.   And  we  '11  call  upon  these 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


2G7 


people,  Fanny.  Yes,  in  a  brown  wig, 
—  the  General,  I  perfectly  well  re- 
member him,  and  Lord  Trim  said  he 
was  a  most  distinguished  officer. 
And  I  have  no  doubt  his  wife  will  be 
a  most  agreeable  person.  Those 
generals'  wives  who  have  travelled 
over  the  world  must  have  acquired  a 
quantity  of  delightful  information. 
At  a  boarding-house,  are  they  ?  I 
dare  say  very  pleasant  and  amusing. 
And  we  Tl  drive  there  and  call  on 
them  immediately." 

On  that  day,  as  MacGrigor  and 
Moira  Baynes  were  disporting  in  the 
little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smo- 
lensk's, I  think  Moira  was  just  about 
to  lick  MacGrigor,  when  his  fratrici- 
dal hand  was  stopped  by  the  sight  of  a 
large  yellow  carriage,  —  a  large  Lon- 
don dowager  family  carriage,  —  from 
which  descended  a  large  London  fam- 
ily footman,  with  side-locks  begrimed 
with  powder,  with  calves  such  as 
only  belong  to  large  London  family 
footmen,  and  with  cards  in  his  hand. 
"  Ceci  Madame  Smolensk  ?  "  says 
the  large  menial.  "Oui,"  says  the 
boy,  nodding  his  head  ;  on  which  the 
footman  was  puzzled,  for  he  thought 
from  his  readiness  in  the  use  of  the 
French  language  that  the  boy  was  a 
Frenchman. 

"  Ici  demure  (Jeneral  Bang  1 "  con- 
tinued the  man. 

"  Hand  us  over  the  cards,  John. 
Not  at  home,"  said  Moira. 

"  W/io  ain't  at  'ome  ?  "  inquired 
the  menial. 

"  General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't 
at  home.  He  shall  have  the  paste- 
board when  he  comes  in.  '  Mrs. 
Hely  ? '  O  Mac,  it  's  the  same 
name  as  that  young  swell  who  called 
the  other  day !  Ain't  at  home,  John. 
Gone  out  to  pay  some  visits.  Had 
a  fly  on  purpose.  Gone  out  with  my 
sister.  '  Pon  my  word,  they  have, 
John."  And  from  this  accurate  re- 
port of  the  boy's  behavior,  I  fear 
that  the  young  Baynes  must  have 
bexjn  brought  up  at  a  classical  and 
commercial  academy,  where  economy 
was  more  studied  than  politeness. 


Pliilip  comes  trudging  up  to  din- 
ner, and  as  this  is  not  his  post  day, 
arrives  early  ;  he  hopes,  perhaps,  for 
a  walk  with  Miss  Charlotte,  or  a  coze 
in  Madame  Smolensk's  little  private 
room.  He  finds  the  two  boys  in  the 
forecourt ;  and  they  have  Mrs.  Hely's 
cards  in  their  hands ;  and  they  nar- 
rate to  him  the  advent  and  departure 
of  the  lady  in  the  swell  carriage,  the 
mother  of  the  young  swell  with  the 
flower  in  his  button-hole,  who  came 
the  other  day  on  such  a  jolly  horse. 
"  Yes.  And  he  was  at  church  last 
Sunday,  Philip,  and  he  gave  Char- 
lotte a  hymn-book.  And  he  sang: 
he  sang  like  the  piper  who  played 
before  Moses,  Pa  said.  And  Ma  said 
it  was  wicked,  but  it  wasn't:  only 
Pa's  fun,  you  know.  And  Ma  said 
you  never  came  to  church.  Why 
don't  you  ? " 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealousy  in 
his  magnanimous  composition,  and 
would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte 
of  flirting  with  other  men  as  of  steal- 
ing madame's  silver  spoons.  "  So  you 
have  had  some  line  visitors,"  he  says, 
as  the  fly  drives  up.  "  I  rcmemlicr 
that  rich  Mrs.  Hely,  a  patient  of  my 
father's.  My  poor  mother  used  to 
drive  to  her  house." 

"  O,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of 
Mr.  Hely,  Philip  !"  cries  Miss  Char- 
lotte, not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her 
mother,  who  is  nodding  and  beckon- 
ing angrily  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  liini. 
He  is  one  of  the  greatest  dandies  abiait 
Paris  :  ( iiite  a  lion,"  remarks  Philip. 

"  Is  he  ?  What  a  fuimy  little  lion  ! 
I  never  thought  about  him,"  says 
Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  O  in- 
gratitude !  ingratitude !  And  we 
have  told  how  Mr.  Walsingluini  was 
crying  his  eyes  out  for  licr. 

"  She  never  thought  about  him  ?  " 
cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  quite  eagerly. 

"  The  piper,  is  it,  you  're  talking 
about '  "  asks  papa.  "  I  called  him 
piper,  you  see,  because  he  i)iped  so 
sweetly  at  eh Well,  my  love  ?  " 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  nudging  her  Gen- 
eral at  this  moment.     She  did   uot 


2G8 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


wish  that  the  piper  should  form  the 
subject  of  conversation,  I  suppose. 

"  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich, 
and  the  piper  will  inherit  after  her. 
She  has  a  tine  house  in  London. 
She  j^ives  very  fine  parties.  She 
drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and  she  has 
come  to  call  upon  you,  and  ask  you 
to  her  balls,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  delighted  at  this 
call.  And  when  she  said,  "  I  'na  sure 
/  don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine 
parties,  or  their  fine  carriages,  but  I 
wish  that  my  dear  child  should  see 
the  world,"  —  I  don't  believe  a  word 
which  Mrs.  Baynes  said.  She  was 
much  more  pleased  than  Charlotte  at 
the  idea  of  visiting  this  fine  lady ;  or 
else,  wliy  should  she  have  coaxed,  and 
wheedled,  and  been  so  particularly' 
gracious  to  the  General  all  the  even- 
ing ?  She  wanted  a  new  gown. 
The  truth  is,  her  yellow  was  very 
shabby ;  whereas  Charlotte,  in  plain 
white  muslin,  looked  pretty  enough 
to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of 
any  French  milliner.  I  fancy  a  con- 
sultation with  madame  and  Mrs. 
Bunch.  I  fancy  a  fly  ordered,  and 
a  visit  to  the  milliner's  the  next  da}-. 
And  when  the  pattern  of  the  gown  is 
settled  with  the  milliner,  I  fancy  the 
terror  on  Mrs.  Baj'nes's  wizened  face 
when  she  ascertains  the  amount  of 
the  bill.  To  do  her  justice,  the  Gren- 
eral's  wife  had  spent  little  upon  her 
own  homely  person.  She  chose  her 
gowns  ugly,  but  cheap.  There  were 
so  many  backs  to  clothe  in  that  fam- 
ily that  the  thrifty  mother  did  not 
heed  the  decoration  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NEC  DULCE8  AMORES   SPERJTE,  PCEK, 
NEQUE  TV    CHOREAS. 

"  My  dear,"  Mrs.  Baynes  said  to 
her  daughter,  "  you  are  going  out  a 
great  deal  in  the  world  now.  You 
will  go  to  a  great  number  of  places 
where  poor  Philip  cannot  hope  to  be 
iuimitted." 


"  Not  admit  Philip,  mamma !  then 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  go,"  cries 
the  girl. 

"  Time  enough  to  leave  off  going 
to  parties  when  you  can't  afford  it 
and  marry  him.  When  I  was  a  lieu- 
tenant's wife,  1  did  n't  go  to  any  par- 
ties out  of  the  regiment,  my  dear  !  " 

"  O,  then,  I  am  sure  I  shall  never 
want  to  go  out !  "  Charlotte  declares. 

"  You  fancy  he  will  always  stop  at 
home,  I  dare  say.  Men  are  not  all 
so  domestic  as  your  papa.  Very  few 
love  to  stop  at  home  like  him.  In- 
deed, I  may  say  that  I  have  made  his 
home  comfortable.  But  one  thing  is 
clear,  my  child.  Philip  can't  always 
expect  to  go  where  we  go.  He  is  not 
in  the  position  in  life.  Recollect, 
your  father  is  a  general  officer,  C.B., 
and  may  be  K.  C.  B.  soon,  and  your 
mother  is  a  general  oflicer's  lady. 
We  may  go  anywhere.  I  might  have 
gone  to  the  drawing-room  at  home  if 
I  chose.  Lady  Biggs  would  have 
been  delighted  to  present  me.  Your 
aunt  has  been  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  she  is  only  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  ;  and  most  absurd  it  was  of 
Mac  to  let  her  go.  But  she  rules 
him  in  evervthing,  and  they  have  no 
children.  1  have,  goodness  knows! 
I  sacrifice  myself  tor  my  children. 
You  little  know  what  I  deny  myself 
for  my  children.  I  said  to  Lady 
Biggs,  '  No,  Lady  Biggs ;  my  hus- 
band may  go.  He  should  go.  He 
has  his  uniform,  and  it  will  cost  him 
nothing  except  a  fly  and  a  bouquet  for 
the  man  who  drives  ;  but  /  will  not 
spend  money  on  myself  for  the  hire 
of  diamonds  and  feathers,  and,  though 
I  yield  in  loyalty  to  no  person,  I  dare 
say  my  Sovereign  won't  miss  me.'  And 
I  don  t  think  her  Majesty  did.  She 
has  other  things  to  think  of  besides 
Mrs.  General  Baynes,  I  suppose. 
She  is  a  mother,  and  can  appreciate 
a  mother's  .-sacrifices  for  her  children." 

If  I  have  not  hitherto  given  you 
detailed  reports  of  Mrs.  General 
Baynes's  conversation,  I  don't  think, 
my  esteemed  reader,  you  will  be  very 
angry. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


269 


"Now,  child,"  the  General's  lady 
continued,  "  let  me  warn  you  not  to 
talk  much  to  Philip  about  those  places 
to  which  you  go  without  him,  and  to 
which  his  position  in  life  does  not  al- 
low of  his  coming.  Hide  anything 
from  him  1  O  dear,  no !  Only  for 
his  own  good,  you  understand.  I 
don't  tell  everything  to  your  papa.  I 
should  only  worrit  bim  and  vex  liim. 
When  anything  will  please  him  and 
make  him  happy,  then  I  tell  him. 
And  alxjut  Pliilip  ?  Philip,  I  must 
say  it,  my  dear, —  I  must  as  a  mother 
say  it  —  has  his  faults.  He  is  an  en- 
vious  man.  Don't  look  shocked.  He 
thinks  very  well  of  himself;  and  hav- 
ing been  a  great  deal  spoiled,  and 
made  too  much  of  in  his  unhappy 
father's  time,  he  is  so  proud  and 
haughty  that  he  forgets  his  position, 
and  thinks  he  ought  to  live  with  the 
highest  society.  Had  Lord  Ring- 
wood  left  him  a  fortune,  as  Philip  led 
us  to  expect  when  we  gave  our  consent 
to  this  most  unlucky  match,  —  for 
that  my  dear  child  should  marry  a 
beggar  is  most  unlucky  and  most  de- 
plorable; I  can't  help  saying  so, 
Charlotte,  —  if  I  were  on  my  death- 
bed I  could  n't  help  saying  so ;  and  I 
wish  with  all  my  heart  we  had  never 
seen  or  heard  of  him.  —  There ! 
Don't  go  off  in  one  of  your  tantrums  ! 
What  was  I  saying,  pray"?  I  say 
that  Philip  is  in  no  position,  or  rather 
in  a  very  humble  one,  which  —  a 
mere  newspaper-writer  and  a  subaltern 
too  —  everybody  acknowledges  to  be. 
And  if  he  hears  us  talking  about  our 
parties  to  which  we  have  a  right  to 
go,  —  to  which  you  have  a  right  to 
go  with  your  mother,  a  general  offi- 
••er's  lady,  —  why  he  '11  be  offended. 
He  won't  like  to  hear  about  them  and 
thiak  he  can't  be  invited ;  and  you 
had  better  not  talk  about  them  at  all, 
or  about  the  people  you  meet,  you 
dance  with.  At  Mrs.  Hely's  you 
may  dance  with  Lord  Headbury,  the 
ambassador's  son.  And  if  you  tell 
Philip  he  will  be  offended.  He  will 
say  that  you  boast  about  it.  When  I 
was  only  a  lieutenant's  wife  at  Bar- 


rackpore,  Mrs.  Captain  Capers  used 
to  go  to  Calcutta  to  the  Government 
House  balls.  I  did  n't  go.  But  I 
WHS  offended,  and  I  used  to  say  that 
Flora  Capers  gave  herself  airs,  and 
was  always  boasting  of  her  intimacy 
with  the  Marchioness  of  Hastings. 
We  don't  like  our  equals  to  be  better 
off  than  ourselves.  Mark  my  woi-ds. 
And  if  you  talk  to  Philip  about  the 
people  whom  you  meet  in  society,  and 
whom  he  can  t  from  his  unfortunate 
station  expect  to  know,  jou  will 
offend  him.  That  was  why  I  nudged 
you  to-day  when  you  were  going  on 
about  Mr.  Hely.  Anything  so  ab- 
surd !  I  saw  Philip  getting  angry  at 
once,  and  biting  his  mustaches,  as 
he  always  does  when  he  is  angry,  — 
and  swears  quite  out  loud, — so  vul- 
gar !  There !  you  are  going  to  be 
angry  again,  my  love ;  I  never  saw 
anything  like  you !  Is  this  my 
Charly  who  never  was  angry?  I 
know  the  world,  dear,  and  you  don't. 
Look  at  me,  how  I  manage  your 
papa,  and  I  tell  you  don't  talk  to 
Philip  about  things  which  offend 
him !  Now,  dearest,  kiss  your  poor 
old  mother  who  loves  you.  Go  up 
stairs  and  bathe  your  eyes,  and  come 
down  happy  to  dinner."  And  at 
dinner  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  un- 
commonly gracious  to  Philip :  and 
when  gracious  she  was  especially 
odious  to  Philip,  whose  magnanimous 
nature  accommodated  itself  ill  to  the 
wheedling  artifices  of  an  ill-bred  old 
woman. 

Following  this  wretched  mother's 
advice,  my  poor  Charlotte  spoke 
scarcely  at  all  to  Philip  of  the  parties 
to  which  she  went,  and  the  amuse- 
ments which  she  enjoyed  without 
him.  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
quite  happy  in  thinking  that  she  was 
"  guiding  "  her  child  rightly.  As  if 
a  coarse  woman,  because  she  is  mean, 
and  greedy,  and  hypocritical,  and 
fifty  years  old,  has  a  ri^cht  to  lead  a 
guileless  nature  into  wrong!  Ah  !  if 
some  of  us  old  folks  were  to  go  to 
school  to  our  children,  I  am  sure, 
madam,  it  would  do  us  a  great  deal 


270 


THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  PHILIP. 


of  good.  There  is  a  fund  of  good 
sense  and  honorable  feeling  about  my 
great-grandson  Tommy,  which  is 
more  valuable  than  all  his  grand- 
papa's experience  and  knowledge  of 
the  world.  Knowledge  of  the  world 
forsooth !  Compromise,  selfishness 
modified,  and  double  dealing.  Tom 
disdains  a  lie  :  when  he  wants  a  peach, 
he  roars  for  it.  If  his  mother  wishes 
to  go  to  a  party,  she  coaxes,  and 
wheedles,  and  manages,  and  smirks, 
and  courtesies  for  months,  in  order  to 
get  her  end;  takes  twenty  rebuffs, 
and  comes  up  to  the  scratch  again 
smiling  ;  —  and  this  woman  is  forever 
lecturing  her  daughters,  and  preach- 
ing to  her  sons  upon  virtue,  honesty, 
and  moral  behavior ! 

Mrs.  Hely's  little  party  at  the 
"  Hotel  de  la  Tcrrasse "  was  very 
pleasant  and  bright ;  and  Miss  Char- 
lotte enjoyed  it,  although  her  swain 
was  not  present.  But  Philip  was 
pleased  that  his  little  Charlotte  should 
be  happy.  She  beheld  with  wonder- 
ment Parisian  duchesses,  American 
raillionnaires,  dandies  from  the  em- 
bassies, deputies  and  peers  of  France 
with  large  stars  and  wigs  like  papa. 
She  gayiy  described  her  party  to 
Philip ;  described,  that  is  to  say, 
everything  but  her  own  success,  which 
was  undoubted.  There  were  many 
beauties  at  Mrs.  Hely's,  but  nobody 
fresher  or  prettier.  The  Miss  Black- 
locks  retired  very  early  and  in  the 
worst  possible  temper.  Prince  Sly- 
boots did  not  in  the  least  heed  their 
going  away.  His  thoughts  were  all 
fixed  upon  little  Charlotte.  Char- 
lotte's mamma  saw  the  impression 
which  the  girl  made,  and  was  filled 
with  a  hungry  joy.  Good-natured 
Mrs.  Ilely  complimented  her  on  her 
daughter.  "  Thank  God,  she  is  as 
good  as  she  is  pretty,"  said  the 
mother,  I  am  sure  speaking  seriously 
this  time  regarding  her  daughter. 
Prince  Slyboots  danced  with  scarce 
anybody  else.  He  raised  a  perfect 
whirlwind  of  compliments  round 
about  Charlotte.  She  was  quite  a 
simple  person,  and  did  not  under- 


stand one  tenth  part  of  what  he  said 
to  her.  He  strewed  her  path  with 
roses  of  poesy :  he  scattered  garlands 
of  sentiment  before  her  all  the  way 
from  the  antechamber  down  stairs, 
and  so  to  the  fly  which  was  in  wait- 
ing to  take  her  and  parents  home  to 
the  boarding-house.  "  By  George, 
Charlotte,  I  think  you  have  smitten 
that  fellow,"  cries  the  General,  who 
was  infinitely  amused  by  young  Hely, 
—  his  raptures,  his  affectations,  his 
long  hair,  and  what  Baynes  called 
his  low  dress.  A  slight  white  tape 
and  a  ruby  button  confined  Hely's 
neck.  His  hair  waved  over  his  shoul- 
ders. Baynes  had  never  seen  such  a 
specimen.  At  the  mess  of  the  stout 
120th,  the  lads  talked  of  their  dogs, 
horses,  and  sport.  A  young  civilian, 
smattering  in  poetry,  chattering  in  a 
dozen  languages,  scented,  smiling, 
perfectly  at  ease  with  himself  and  the 
world,  was  a  novelty  to  the  old  officer. 
And  now  the  Queen's  birthday  ar- 
rived, —  and  that  it  may  arrive  for 
many  scores  of  years  yet  to  come  is, 
I  am  sure,  the  prayer  of  all  of  us,  — 
and  with  the  birthday  his  Excellency 
Lord  Estridge's  grand  annual  fete  in 
honor  of  his  .sovereign.  A  card  for 
their  ball  was  left  at  Madame 
Smolensk's,  for  General,  Mrs  and 
Miss  Baynes ;  and  no  doubt  Mon- 
sieur Slyboots  VValsingham  Hely 
was  the  artful  agent  by  whom  the  in- 
vitation was  forwarded.  Once  more 
the  General's  veteran  uniform  came 
out  from  the  tin-box,  with  its  dingy 
epaulets  and  little  cross  and  ribbon. 
His  wife  urged  on  him  strongly  the 
necessity  of  having  a  new  wig,  wigs 
being  very  cheap  and  good  at  Paris,  — 
but  Baynes  said  a  new  wig  would 
make  his  old  coat  look  very  shabby, 
and  a  new  uniform  would  cost  more 
money  than  he  would  like  to  afford. 
So  shabby  he  went  de  cap  a  pied, 
with  a  moulting  feather,  a  threadbare 
suit,  a  tarnished  wig,  and  a  worn-out 
lace,  sibi  constans.  Boots,  trousers, 
]  sash,  coat,  were  all  old  and  worse  for 
j  wear,  and  "  Faith,"  says  he,  "  my 
I  face  follows  suit."    A  brave,  silent 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


271 


man  was  Baynes  ;  with  a  twinkle  of 
humor  in  his  lean,  wrinkled  face. 

And  if  General  Baynes  was  shab- 
bily attired  at  the  E^mbassy  l)all,  I 
think  I  know  a  friend  of  mine  who  was 
shabby  too.  In  the  days  of  his  pros- 
perity, Mr.  Philip  was  jxircus  cuttur  et 
infrequens  of  balls,  routs,  and  ladies' 
company.  Perhaps  because  his  father 
was  angered  at  Philip's  neglect  of  his 
social  advantages  and  inditterence  as 
to  success  in  the  world,  Philip  was 
the  more  neglectful  and  indifferent. 
The  elder's  comedy  -  smiles,  and 
solemn,  hypocritical  politeness  caused 
scorn  and  revolt  on  the  part  of  the 
younger  man.  Philip  despised  the 
humbug,  and  the  world  to  which  such 
humbug  could  be  welcome.  He  kept 
aloof  from  tea-parties  then  :  his  even- 
ing-dress clothes  served  him  for  a 
long  time.  I  cannot  say  how  old  his 
dress-coat  was  at  the  time  of  which 
we  are  writing.  But  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  respecting  that  gar- 
ment and  considering  it  new  and 
handsome  for  many  years  past. 
Meanwhile  the  coat  had  shrunk,  or 
its  wearer  had  grown  stouter :  and 
his  grand  embroidered,  embossed, 
illuminated,  carved  and  gilt  velvet 
dress  waistcoat,  too,  had  narrowed, 
had  become  absurdly  tight  and  short, 
and  I  dare  say  was  the  laughing-stock 
of  many  of  Philip's  acquaintances, 
whilst  he  himself,  poor  simple  fellow, 
was  fancying  that  it  was  a  most 
splendid  article  of  apparel.  You 
know  in  the  Palais  Royal  they  hang 
out  the  most  splendid  reach-me-down 
dressing-gowns,  waistcoats,  and  so 
forth.  "  No,"  thought  Philip  coming 
out  of  his  cheap  dining-house,  and 
swaggering  along  the  arcades,  and 
looking  at  the  tailors'  shops,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "My  brown 
velvet  dress  waistcoat  with  the  gold 
sprigs,  which  I  had  made  at  college,  is 
a  much  more  tasty  thing  than  these 
gaudy  ready-made  articles.  And  my 
coat  is  old  certainly,  but  the  brass 
buttons  are  still  very  bright  and 
handsome,  and,  in  fact,  it  is  a  most 
becoming  aud  gentlemanlike  thing." 


And  under  this  delusion  the  honest 
fellow  dressed  himself,  in  his  old 
clothes,  lighted  a  pair  of  candles,  and 
looked  at  himself  with  satisfaction  in 
the  looking-glass,  drew  on  a  pair  of 
cheap  gloves  which  he  had  bought, 
walked  by  the  Quays,  and  over  the 
Deputies'  Bridge,  across  the  Place 
Louis  XV.,  and  strutted  up  the 
Faubourg  St.  Honore  to  the  Hotel  of 
the  British  Embassy.  A  half-mile 
queue  of  carriages  was  formed  along 
the  street,  and  of  course  the  entrance 
to  the  hotel  was  magnificently  illum- 
inated. 

A  plague  on  those  cheap  gloves ! 
Why  had  not  Philip  paid  three  francs 
for  a  pair  of  gloves,  instead  of  twenty- 
nine  sous  ?  Mrs.  Baynes  had  found 
a  capital  cheap  glove  shop,  whither 
poor  Phil  had  gone  in  the  simplicity 
of  his  heart ;  and  now  as  he  went  in 
under  the  grand  illuminated  porte- 
cochere,  Philip  saw  that  the  gloves  had 
given  way  at  the  thumbs,  and  that  his 
hands  appeared  through  the  rents,  as 
red  as  raw  beefsteaks.  It  is  wonder- 
ftil  how  red  hands  will  look  through 
holes  in  white  gloves.  "  And  there  's 
that  hole  in  my  boot,  too,"  thought 
Phil ;  but  he  had  put  a  little  ink  over 
the  seam,  and  so  the  rent  was  impercep- 
tible. The  coat  and  waistcoat  were 
tight,  and  of  a  past  age.  Never  mind. 
The  ^;hest  was  broad,  the  arms  were 
muscular  and  long,  and  Phil's  face, 
in  the  midst  of  a  halo  of  fair  hair  and 
flaming  whiskers,  looked  brave,  hon- 
est, and  handsome.  For  a  while  his 
eyes  wandered  fiercely  and  restlessly 
all  about  the  room  from  group  to 
group ;  but  now  —  ah !  now  —  they 
were  settled.  Thev  had  met  another 
pair  of  eyes,  whicK  lighted  up  with 
glad  welcome  when  they  beheld  him. 
Two  young  cheeks  mantled  with  a 
sweet  blush.  These  were  Charlotte's 
cheeks :  and  hard  by  them  were  mam- 
ma's of  a  very  different  color.  But 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  knowing 
turban  on,  and  a  set  of  garnets  round 
her  old  neck,  like  gooseberries  set  in 
gold. 
They  admired  the  rooms:  they  heard 


272 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  names  of  the  great  folks  who  ar- 
rived, and  beheld  many  famous  per- 
sonages. Tliey  made  their  courtesies 
to  the  ambassadress.  Confusion ! 
AVith  a  great  rip,  the  thumb  of  one  of 
those  cheap  gloves  of  Philip's  parts 
company  from  the  rest  of  the  glove, 
and  he  is  obliged  to  wear  it  crumpled  up 
in  Ills  hand :  a  dreadful  mishap,  — 
for  he  is  going  to  dance  with  Char- 
lotte, and  he  will  have  to  give  his 
hand  to  the  vis-it-vis. 

Who  comes  up  smiling,  with  a  low 
neck,  with  waving  curls  and  whiskers, 
pretty  little  hands  exquisitely  gloved, 
and  "tiny  feet?  'T  is  Walsingham 
Hely,  lightest  in  the  dance.  Most 
affably  does  Mrs.  General  Baynes 
greet  the  young  fellow.  Very  brightly 
and  happily  do  Charlotte's  eyes  glance 
towards  her  favorite  partner.  It  is 
certain  that  poor  Phil  can't  hope  at 
all  to  dance  like  Hely.  "  And  see 
what  nice  neat  feet  and  hands  he  has 
got,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes.  "  Comme  il 
est  bien  gante  !  A  gentleman  ought 
to  be  always  well  gloved." 

"  Why  did  you  send  me  to  the 
twenty-nine-sous  shop  1  "  says  poor 
Phil,  looking  at  his  tattered  hand- 
shoes  and  red  obtrusive  thumb. 

"  O  you  !  "  — (here  Mrs.  Baynes 
shrugs  her  yellow  old  shoulders.) 
"  Your  hands  would  burst  through 
any  gloves  !  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Helyl  Is  your  mamma  here?  Of 
course  she  is !  What  a  delightful 
party  she  gave  us  !  The  dear  ambas- 
sadress looks  quite  unwell,  —  most 
pleasing  manners,  I  am  sure ;  Lord 
Estridge,  what  a  perfect  gentleman  !  " 
,  The  Bayneses  were  just  come.  For 
what  dance  was  Miss  Baynes  disen- 
uruged  ?  "  As  many  as  ever  you 
like!"  cries  Charlotte,  who,  in  fact, 
called  Hely  her  little  dancing-master, 
and  never  thought  of  iiim  except  as 
a  partner.  "  O,  too  raucli  happiness ! 
()  that  this  could  last  forever  !  " 
sighed  Hely,  after  a  waltz,  polka, 
mazurka,  I  know  not  what,  and  fixing 
on  Charlotte  the  full  blaze  of  his 
beauteous  blue  eyes.  "  Forever  .'  " 
cries    Charlotte,   laughing.      "I  'm 


very  fond  of  dancing,  indeed ;  and 
you  dance  beautifully ;  but  I  don't 
know  that  I  should  like  to  dance  for- 
ever." Ere  the  words  arc  over,  he  is 
whirling  her  round  the  room  again. 
His  little  feet  fly  with  surprising 
agility.  His  hair  floats  behind  him. 
He  scatters  odors  as  he  spins.  The 
handkerchief  with  which  he  fans  his 
pale  brow  is  like  a  cloudy  film 
of  muslin,  —  and  poor  old  Philip  sees 
with  terror  that  liis  pocket-handker- 
chief has  got  three  great  holes  in  it. 
His  nose  and  one  eye  appeared  through 
one  of  the  holes  while  Phil  was  wiping 
his  forehead.  It  was  very  hot.  He 
was  very  hot.  He  was  hotter,  though 
standing  still,  than  young  Hely  who 
was  dancing.  "  He !  he  !  I  compli- 
ment you  on  your  gloves,  and  your 
handkerchief,  1  'ra  sure,"  sniggers 
Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  toss  of  her  tur- 
ban. Has  it  not  been  said  that  a  bull 
is  a  strong,  courageous,  and  noble 
animal,  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is 
not  in  his  place  ?  "  There  you  go. 
Thank  you  !  I  wish  you'd  go  some- 
where else,"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes  in  a 
fury.  Poor  Philip's  foot  has  just  gone 
through  her  flounce.  How  red  is  he ! 
how  much  hotter  than  ever  !  There 
go  Hely  and  Charlotte,  whirling  round 
like  two  opera-dancers  !  Philip  grinds 
his  teeth,  he  buttons  his  coat  across 
his  chest.  How  very  tight  it  feels  ! 
How  savagely  his  eyes  glare !  Do 
young  men  still  look  savage  and 
solemn  at  balls  1  An  ingenuous 
young  Englishman  ought  to  do  that 
duty  of  dancing,  of  course.  Society 
calls  upon  him.  But  I  doubt  whether 
he  ought  to  look  cheerful  during  the 
performance,  or  flippantly  engage  in 
so  grave  a  matter. 

As  Charlotte's  sweet  round  fiice 
beamed  smiles  upon  Philip  over  He- 
ly's  shoulders,  it  looked  so  happy 
that  he  never  thought  of  grudging 
her  her  pleasure :  and  happy  he 
might  have  remained  in  this  contem- 
plation, regarding  fiot  the  circle  of 
dancers,  who  were  galloping  and 
whirling  on  at  their  usual  swift  rate, 
but  her,  who  was  the  centre  of  aU 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP. 


273 


joy  and  pleasure  for  him ;  —  when 
suddenly  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  be- 
hind him,  crying,  "  Get  out  of  the 
way,  hang  you  !  "  and  suddenly  there 
bounced  against  him  Ringwood  Twys- 
den,  pulling  Miss  Flora  Trotter  round 
the  room,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
and  intrepid  dancers  of  that  season 
at  Paris.  They  hurtled  past  Philip  ; 
they  shot  him  forward  against  a  pil- 
hir.  He  heard  a  screech,  an  oath, 
and  another  loud  laugh  from  Twys- 
den,  and  beheld  the  scowls  of  Miss 
Trotter  as  that  rapid  creature  bumped 
at  length  into  a  place  of  safety. 

I  told  you  about  Philip's  coat  It 
was  very  tight.  The  daylight  had  long 
been  struggling  to  make  an  entry  at 
the  seams.  As  he  staggered  up 
against  the  wall,  crack  !  went  a  great 
hole  at  his  back ;  and  crack  !  one  of 
his  gold  buttons  came  off,  leaving  a 
rent  in  his  chest.  It  was  in  those 
days  when  gold  buttons  still  lingered 
on  the  breasts  of  some  brave  men, 
and  we  have  said  simple  Philip  still 
thought  his  coat  a  fine  one. 

There  was  not  only  a  rent  of  the 
seam,  there  was  not  only  a  burst  but- 
ton, but  there  was  also  a  rip  in  Phil- 
ip's rich  cut-velvet  waistcoat,  with 
the  gold  sprigs,  which  he  thought  so 
handsome,  —  a  great  heart-rending 
scar.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Re- 
treat was  necessary.  He  told  Miss 
Charlotte  of  the  hurt  he  had  received, 
whose  face  wore  a  very  comical  look 
of  pity  at  his  misadventure,  —  he 
covered  part  of  his  wound  with  his 
gibus  hat,  —  and  he  thought  he  would 
try  and  make  his  way  out  by  the  gar- 
den of  the  hotel,  which,  of  course, 
was  illuminated,  and  bright,  and 
crowded,  but  not  so  very  bright  and 
crowded  as  the  saloons,  galleries, 
supper-rooms,  and  halls  of  gilded 
light  in  which  the  rompany,  for  the 
most  part,  assembled. 

So  our  poor  wounded  friend  wan- 
dered into  the  garden,  over  which  the 
moon  was  shining  with  the  most  blank 
indifference  at  the  fiddling,  feasting, 
and  party-colored  lamps.  He  says 
that  his  mind  was  soothed  by  the  as- 
12* 


pect  of  yonder  placid  moon  and 
twinkling  stars,  and  that  he  had 
altogether  forgotten  his  trumpery  lit- 
tle accident  and  torn  coat  and  waist- 
coat :  but  I  doubt  about  the  entire 
truth  of  this  statement,  for  there  have 
l)cen  some  occasions  when  he,  Mr. 
Philip,  hiis  mentioned  the  subject,  and 
owned  that  he  was  mortified  and  in  a 
rage. 

Well.  He  went  into  the  garden, 
and  was  calming  himself  by  contem- 
templating  the  stars,  when,  just  by  that 
fountain  where  there  is  Pradier's  little 
statue  of —  Moses  in  the  Bulrushes, 
let  us  say,  —  round  which  there  was 
a  beautiful  row  of  illuminated  lam})s, 
lighting  up  a  great  coronal  of  flowers, 
which  my  dear  readers  are  at  liberty 
to  select  and  arrange  according  to 
their  own  exquisite  taste ;  —  near  this 
little  fountain  he  found  three  gentle- 
men talking  together. 

The  high  voice  of  one  Philip  could 
hear,  and  knew  from  old  days.  Ring- 
wood  Twysden,  Esquire,  always  liked 
to  talk  and  toexcite  himself  with  other 
persons'  liquor.  He  had  been  drink- 
ing the  Sovereign's  health  with  great 
assiduity,  I  suppose,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly loud  and  happy.  With  Ring- 
wood  was  Mr.  Woolcomb,  whose 
countenance  the  lamps  lit  up  in  a  fine 
lurid  manner,  and  whose  eyeballs 
gleamed  in  the  twilight :  and  the 
third  of  the  group  was  our  young 
friend  Mr.  Lowndes. 

"  I  owed  him  one,  you  see, 
Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Rinywood  Twys- 
den. "  I  hate  the  fellow  !  Hang 
him,  always  did !  I  saw  the  great 
hulkin'  brute standin'  there.  Couldn't 
help  myself.  Give  you  my  honor, 
could  n't  help  myself.  I  just  drove 
Miss  Trotter  at  him,  —  sent  her  elliow 
well  into  him,  and  spun  him  up  against 
the  wall.  The  buttons  cracked  off  the 
beggar's  coat,  begad  !  What  business 
had  he  there,  hang  him  t  Gad,  sir, 
he  made  a  cannon  off  an  old  woman 
in  blue,  and  went  into  .  .  .  .  " 

Here  Mr.  Ringwood's  speech  came 
to  an  end  ;  for  his  cousin  stood  before 
him,  grim  and  biting  his  mustache. 


274 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP; 


"  Hullo ' "'  piped  the  other.  "  Who 
wants  you  to  overhear  my  conversa- 
tion 1     Daramy,  I  say  !     1  ....  " 

Philip  put  out  that  hand  with  the 
torn  glove.  The  glove  was  in  a 
dreadful  state  of  disruption  now.  He 
worked  the  hand  well  into  his  kins- 
man's neck,  and  twisting  Ringwood 
round  into  a  proper  position,  brought 
that  poor  old  broken  boot  so  to  bear 
upon  the  proper  quarter,  that  Ring- 
wood  was  discharged  into  the  little 
font,  and  lighted  amidst  the  flowers, 
and  the  water,  and  the  oil-lamps,  and 
made  a  drea<lful  mess  and  splutter 
amongst  them.  And  as  for  Philip's 
coat,  it  was  torn  worse  than  ever. 

I  don't  know  how  many  of  the 
brass  buttons  had  revolted  and  parted 
company  from  the  poor  old  cloth, 
which  cracked  and  split,  and  tore 
under  the  agitation  of  that  beating 
angry  bosom.  I  blush  as  I  think  of 
Mr.  Firmin  in  this  ragged  state,  a 
great  rent  all  across  his  back,  and  his 
prostrate  enemy  lying  howling  in  the 
water,  amidst  the  sputtering,  crash- 
ing oil-lamps  at  his  feet.  When 
Cinderella  quitted  her  first  ball,  just 
after  the  clock  struck  twelve,  we  all 
know  how  shabby  she  looked.  Philip 
was  a  still  more  disreputable  object 
when  he  slunk  away.  I  don't  know 
by  what  side  door  Mr.  Lowndes  elim- 
inated him.  He  also  benevolently 
took  charge  of  Philip's  kinsman  and 
nntagonist,  Mr.  Ringwood  Twysdcn. 
Mr.  Twysdcn's  hands,  coat-tails,  &c., 
were  very  much  singed  and  scalded 
by  the  oil,  and  cut  by  the  broken 
glass,  which  was  all  extracted  at  the 
Beaujon  Hospital,  but  not  without 
much  suffering  on  the  part  of  the  pa- 
tient. But  tliough  young  Lowndes 
spoke  up  for  Philip,  in  describing  the 
scene  (I  fear  not  without  laughter), 
his  Excellency  caused  Mr.  Firmin's 
name  to  be  erased  from  his  party 
lists  :  and  I  am  sure  no  sensible  man 
will  defend  Philip's  conduct  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

Of  this  lamentable  fracas  which  oc- 
curred in  the  Hotel  Garden,  Miss 
Baynes    and    her    parents    had    no 


knowledge  for  a  while.  Charlotta 
was  too  much  occupied  with  her 
dancing,  which  she  pursued  with  all 
her  might ;  papa  was  at  cards  with 
some  sober  male  and  female  veterans, 
and  mamma  was  looking  with  delight 
at  her  daughter,  whom  the  young 
gentlemen  of  many  embassies  were 
charmed  to  choose  for  a  partner. 
When  Lord  Headbury,  Lord  Est- 
ridge's  son,  was  presented  to  Miss 
Baynes,  her  mother  was  so  elated  that 
she  was  ready  to  dance  too.  I  do  not 
envy  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter,  at 
Tours,  the  perusal  of  that  immense 
manuscript  in  which  her  sister  re- 
corded the  events  of  the  ball.  Here 
was  Charlotte,  beautiful,  elegant,  ac- 
complished, admired  everywhere,  with 
young  men,  young  noblemen  of  im- 
mense property  and  expectations,  iviid 
about  her ;  and  engaged  by  a  promise 
to  a  rude,  ragged,  presumptuous,  ill- 
bred  young  man,  without  a  penny  in 
the  world,  —  was  n't  it  provoking  ? 
Ah,  poor  Philip !  How  that  little 
sour,  yellow  mother-in-law  elect  did 
scowl  at  him  when  he  came  with 
rather  a  shamefaced  look  to  pay  his 
duty  to  his  sweetheart  on  the  day 
after  the  ball  !  Mrs.  Baynes  had 
caused  her  daughter  to  dress  with  ex- 
tra smartness,  had  forbidden  the  poor 
child  to  go  out,  and  coaxed  her,  and 
wheedled  her,  and  dressed  her  with  I 
know  not  what  ornaments  of  her  own, 
with  a  fond  expectation  that  Lord 
Headbury,  that  the  yellow  young 
Spanish  attache,  that  the  sprightly 
Prussian  secretary,  and  Walsingham 
Hely,  Charlotte's  partners  at  the  ball, 
would  certainly  call ;  and  the  only 
equipage  that  appeared  at  Madame 
Smolensk's  gate  was  a  hack  cab, 
which  drove  up  at  evening,  and  out 
of  which  poor  Philip's  well-known 
tattered  boots  came  striding.  Such 
a  fond  mother  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may 
well  have  been  out  of  humor. 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  unusually  shy 
and  modest.  He  did  not  know  in 
what  light  his  friends  would  regard 
his  escapade  of  the  previous  evening. 
He  had  been  sitting  at  boiae  all  the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


275 


morning  in  state,  and  in  company 
with  a  Polish  colonel,  who  lived  in 
his  hotel,  and  whom  Philip  had  se- 
lected to  be  his  second  in  case  the 
battle  of  the  jirevious  night  should 
have  any  suite.  He  had  left  that 
colonel  in  company  with  a  bag  of 
tobacco  and  an  order  for  unlimited 
beer,  whilst  he  himself  ran  up  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  his  beloved.  The 
Bayneses  had  not  heard  of  the  battle 
of  the  previous  night.  They  were 
full  of  the  ball,  of  Lord  Estrldge's 
affability,  of  the  Golconda  ambassa- 
dor's diamonds,  of  the  appearance  of 
the  royal  princes  who  honored  the 
fete,  of  the  most  fashionable  Paris 
talk  in  a  word.  Philip  was  scolded, 
snubbed,  and  coldly  received  by  mam- 
ma ;  but  he  was  used  to  that  sort 
of  treatment,  and  greatly  relieved  bv 
finding  that  she  was  unacquainted 
with  his  own  disorderly  behavior. 
He  did  not  tell  Charlotte  about  the 
quarrel  :  a  knowledge  of  it  might 
alarm  the  little  maiden  ;  and  so  for 
once  our  friend  was  discreet,  and  held 
his  tongue. 

But  if  he  had  any  mfluence  with 
the  editor  of  Galignani's  Messenger, 
why  did  he  not  entreat  the  conductors 
of  that  admirable  journal  to  forego  all 
mention  of  the  fracas  at  the  Embassy 
ball  ■?  Two  days  after  the  fete,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  there  appeared  a  para- 
graph in  the  paper  narrating  the 
circumstances  of  the  fight.  And  the 
guilty  Philip  found  a  copy  of  that  pa- 
per on  the  table  before  Mrs.  Baynes 
and  the  General  when  he  came  to  the 
Champs  Elysees  according  to  his 
wont.  Behind  that  paper  sat  Major- 
General  Baynes,  C.  B.,  looking  con- 
fused, and  beside  him  his  lady  frown- 
ing like  Rhadamanthus.  But  no  Char- 
lotte was  ig  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

INFANDI   DOLORES. 

Philip's  heart  beat  very  quickly 
at  seeing  this  grim  pair,  and  the  guilty 


newspaper  before  them,  on  which  Mrs. 
Baynes  s  lean  right  hand  was  laid. 
"  So,  sir,"  she  cried,  ''  you  still  honor 
us  with  your  company :  after  distin- 
guishing yourself  as  you  did  the  night 
before  last.  Fighting  and  boxing  like 
a  jiorter  at  his  Excellency's  ball.  It's 
disgusting !  I  have  no  other  word  for 
it :  disgusting  !  "  And  here  I  suppose 
she  nudged  the  General,  or  gave  him 
some  look  or  signal  by  which  he  knew 
he  was  to  come  into  action  ; '  for 
Baynes  straightway  advanced  and  de- 
livered his  fire. 

"  Faith,  sir,  more  bnb-ub-black- 
guard  conduct  I  never  heard  of  in  my 
life  !  That 's  the  only  word  for  it : 
the  only  word  for  it,"  cries  Baynes. 

"  The  General  knows  wliat  black- 
guard conduct  is,  and  yours  is  that 
conduct,  Mr.  Firmin !  It  is  all  over 
the  town :  is  talked  of  everywhere : 
will  be  in  all  the  newspapers.  When 
his  Lordship  heard  of  it,  he  was  furi- 
ous. Never,  never,  will  you  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  Embassy  again,  after 
disgracing  yourself  as  you  have  done," 
cries  the  lady. 

"  Disgracing  yourself,  that 's  the 
word.  —  And  disgraceful  your  con- 
duct was,  begad ! "  cries  the  officer 
second  in  command. 

"  You  don't  know  my  provoca- 
tion," pleaded  poor  Philip.  "As  I 
came  up  to  him  Twysden  was  boast- 
ing that  he  had  struck  me, —  and  — 
and  laughing  at  me." 

"And  a  pretty  figure  you  were  to 
come  to  a  ball.  Who  could  help 
laughing,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  bragged  of  having  insulted 
me,  and  I  lost  my  temper,  and  struck 
him  in  return.  The  thing  is  done 
and  can't  be  helped,"  growled  Philip. 

"  Strike  a  little  man  before  ladies  ! 
Very  brave  indeed  !  "  cries  the  lady. 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  !  " 

"  I  call  it  cowardly.  In  the  army 
we  consider  it  cowardly  to  quarrel 
before  ladies,"  continues  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral B. 

"  I  have  waited  at  home  for  two 
days  to  see  if  he  wanted  any  more," 
groaned  Philip. 


276 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


"  O  yea !  After  insulting  and 
knocking  a  little  man  down,  you 
want  to  murder  liim  !  And  you  call 
that  the  conduct  of  a  Christian,  — 
the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  The  conduct  of  a  ruffian,  by 
George  !  "  says  General  Baynes. 

"  It  was  prudent  of  you  to  choose 
a  very  little  man,  and  to  have  the 
ladies  within  hearing  !  "  continues 
Mrs.  Baynes.  "  Why,  I  wonder  you 
have  n't  l)eaten  my  dear  children 
next.  Don't  you,  Greneral,  wonder 
lie  has  not  knocked  down  our  poor 
boys  f  They  are  quite  small.  And 
it  is  evident  that  ladies  being  present 
is  no  hindrance  to  Mr.  Firmin's  box- 
vuf-ni'ilduis." 

"  The  conduct  is  gross  and  un- 
worthy of  a  gentleman,"  reiterates 
the  General. 

"  You  hear  what  that  man  says,  — 
that  old  man,  who  never  says  an  un- 
kind word  ?  That  veteran,  who  has 
been  in  twenty  battles,  and  never 
struck  a  man  before  women  yet  1 
Did  you,  Charles  ?  He  has  given 
you  his  opinion.  He  has  called  you 
a  name  which  I  won't  soil  my  lips 
with  repeating,  but  which  you  de-  j 
serve.  And  do  you  suppose,  sir,  | 
that  I  will  give  my  blessed  child  to  a 
man   who    has    acted    as  you   have 

acted,     and    been     called    a  ? 

Charles !  General !  I  will  go  to 
my  grave  rather  than  sec  my  daugh- 
ter given  up  to  such  a  man  !  " 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  said  Philip, 
his  knees  trembling  umler  him. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
intend     to     go     from     your    word, 

do  J  J 

— 

"  Oh  !  you  threaten  about  money, 
do  you  ?  Because  your  father  was  a 
cheat,  you  intend  to  try  and  make  us 
sutfer,  do  you?"  shrieks  the  lady. 
'•  A  man  who  strikes  a  little  man  be- 
fore ladies  will  commit  any  act  of 
cowardice,  I  dare  say.  And  if  you 
wish  to  beggar  my  family,  because 
your  father  was  a  rogue  —  " 

"  My  dear !  "  interposes  the  Gen- 
eral. 

"Wasn't  he    a.  rogue,   Baynes? 


Is  there  any  denying  it  1  Have  n't 
you  said  so  a  hundred  and  a  hundred 
times  7  A  nice  family  to  marry  in- 
to !  No,  Mr.  Firmin !  You  may 
insult  me  as .  you  please.  You  may 
strike  little  men  before  ladies.  You 
may  lift  your  great  wicked  hand 
against  that  poor  old  man,  in  one  of 
your  tipsy  fits  :  but  I  know  a  mother's 
love,  a  mother's  duty,  —  and  I  desire 
that  we  see  you  no  more." 

"  Great  Powers  !  "  cries  Philip, 
aghast.  "You  don't  mean  to  —  to 
separate  me  from  Charlotte,  General  ? 
I  have  your  word.  You  encouraged 
me.  I  shall  break  my  heart.  I  '11 
go  down  on  my  knees  to  that  fellow. 
1  '11  —  oh  !  —  you  don't  mean  what 
you  say  ! "  And,  scared  and  sob- 
bing, the  poor  fellow  clasped  his 
strong  hands  together,  and  appealed 
to  the  General. 

Baynes  was  under  his  wife's  eye. 
"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  your  conduct 
has  been  confoundedly  bad,  disorder- 
ly, and  ungentlemanlike.  You  can't 
support  my  cliild,  if  you  marry  her. 
And  if  you  have  the  least  spark  of 
honor  in  you,  as  you  say  you  have,  it 
is  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  who  will  break 
off  the  match,  and  release  the  poor 
child  from  certain  misery.  By  George, 
sir,  how  is  a  man  who  fights  and 
quarrels  in  a  nobleman's  ball-room  to 
get  on  in  the  world  ?  How  is  a  man, 
who  can't  afford  a  decent  coat  to  his 
back,  to  keep  a  wife  ?  The  more  I 
have  known  you,  the  more  I  have  felt 
that  the  engagement  would  bring 
misery  upon  my  child !  Is  that  what 
you  want  ?  A  man  of  honor  —  " 
{"Honor!"  in  italics,  from  Mrs. 
Baynes.)  "Hush,  my  dear! — A 
man  of  spirit  would  give  her  up,  sir. 
What  have  you  to  offer  but  beggary, 
by  George  7  Do  you  want  my  girl 
to  come  home  to  your  lodgings,  and 
mend  your  clothes  1 "  —  "I  think 
1  put  that  point  pretty  well,  Bunch, 
my  boy,"  said  the  General,  talking 
of  the  matter  afterwards.  "  I  hit 
him  there,  sir." 

The  old  soldier  did  indeed  strike 
his  adversary  there  with  a  vital  stab. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


277 


Philip's  coat,  no  doubt,  was  ragged, 
and  his  purse  but  light.  He  had  sent 
money  to  his  father  out  of  his  small 
stock.  There  were  one  or  two  ser- 
vants in  the  old  house  in  Parr  Street, 
who  had  been  left  without  their 
wages,  and  a  part  of  these  debts 
Philip  had  paid.  He  knew  his  own 
violence  of  temper,  and  his  unruly 
independence.  He  thought  very 
humbly  of  his  talents,  and  often 
doubted  of  his  capacity  to  get  on  in 
the  world.  In  his  less  hopeful  moods, 
he  trembled  to  think  that  he  might 
be  bringing  poverty  and  unhappiness 
upon  his  dearest  little  maiden,  for 
whom  he  would  joyfully  have  sacri- 
ficed his  blood,  his  life.  Poor  Philip 
sank  back  sickening  and  fainting 
almost  under  Baynes's  words. 

"  You  '11  let  me  —  you  'II  let  me  see 
her  1 "  he  gasped  out. 

"  She 's  unwell.  She  is  in  her  bed. 
She  can't  appear  to-day !  "  cried  the 
mother. 

"  O  Mrs.  Baynes !  I  must  —  I 
must  see  her,"  Philip  said,  and  fairly 
broke  out  in  a  sob  of  pain. 

"  This  is  the  man  that  strikes  men 
before  women  !  "  said  Mrs.  Baynes. 
"Very  courageous,  certainly!" 

"  By  George,  Eliza !  "  the  General 
cried  out,  starting  up,  "  it 's  too 
bad  —  " 

"  Infirm  of  purpose,  give  me  the 
daggers  ! "  Philip  yelled  out,  whilst 
describing  the  scene  to  his  biographer 
in  after  days.  "  Macbeth  would 
never  have  done  the  murders  but  for 
that  little  quiet  woman  at  his  side. 
When  the  Indian  prisoners  are  killed, 
the  .squaws  always  invent  the  worst 
tortures.  You  should  have  seen  that 
fiend  and  her  livid  smile,  as  she  was 
drilling  her  gimlets  into  my  heart. 
I  don't  know  how  I  offended  her. 
I  tried  to  like  her,  sir.  I  had  humbled 
myself  before  her.  I  went  on  her  er- 
rands. I  played  cards  with  her.  I 
sat  and  listened  to  her  dreadful  sto- 
ries about  Barraekpore  and  the  Gov- 
ernor-General.- I  wallowed  in  the 
dust  before  her,  and  she  hated  me. 
I  can  see  her  face  now,  —  her  cruel 


yellow  face,  and  her  sharp  teeth,  and 
her  gray  eyes.  It  was  the  end  of 
August,  and  pouring  a  storm  that 
day.  I  suppose  my  poor  child  was 
cold  and  suffering  up  stairs,  for  I 
heard  the  poking  of  a  fire  in  her  little 
room.  When  I  hear  a  fire  poked 
overhead  now,  —  twenty  years  after, 
—  the  whole  thing  comes  back  to  nie  ; 
and  I  suffer  over  again  that  infernal 
agony.  Were  1  to  live  a  thousand 
years,  I  could  not  forgive  her.  I 
never  did  her  a  wrong,  but  I  can't 
forgive  her.  Ah !  my  Heaven,  how 
that  woman  tortured  me  ! " 

"  I  think  I  know  one  or  two  simi- 
lar instances,"  said  Mr.  Pirmin's  bi- 
ographer. 

"  You  are  always  speaking  ill  of 
women,"  said  Mr.  Fiimin's  biogra- 
pher's wife. 

"  No,  thank  Heaven  !  "  said  the 
gentleman.  "I  ihink  I  know  some 
of  whom  I  never  thought  or  spoke  a 
word  of  evil.  My  dear,  will  you  give 
Philip  some  more  tea  ? "  and  with 
this  the  gentleman's  narrative  is  re- 
sumed. 

The  rain  was  beating  down  the 
avenue  as  Philip  went  into  the  street. 
He  looked  up  at  Charlotte's  window  : 
but  there  was  no  sign.  There  was  a 
flicker  of  a  fire  there.  The  poor  girl 
had  the  fever,  and  was  shuddering  in 
her  little  room,  weeping  and  sobbing 
on  Madame  Smolensk's  shoulder. 
"  Que  c'e'tait  pitie'  a  voir,"  madame 
said.  Her  mother  had  told  her  she 
must  break  from  Philip ;  had  in- 
vented and  spoken  a  hundred  calum- 
nies against  him;  declared  that  he 
never  cared  for  her ;  that  he  had 
loose  principles,  and  was  forever 
haunting  theatres  and  bad  company. 
"  It  's  not  true,  mother,  it  's  not 
true !  "  the  little  girl  had  cried,  flam- 
ing up  in  revolt  for  a  moment ;  but 
she  soon  subsided  in  tears  and  misery, 
utterly  broken  by  the  thought  of  her 
calamity.  Then  her  fiither  had  been 
brought  to  her,  who  had  been  made 
to  believe  some  of  the  stories  against 
poor  Philip,  and  who  was  commanded 
by  his  wife  to  impress  them  upon  tha 


278 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


girl.  And  Baynes  tried  to  obey  or- 
ders ;  but  he  was  scared  and  cruelly 
pained  by  the  sight  of  his  little  maid- 
en's grief  and  suffering.  He  attempted 
a  weak  expostulation,  and  began  a 
speech  or  two.  But  his  heart  failed 
him.  He  retreated  behind  his  wife. 
She  never  hesitated  in  speech  or  reso- 
lution, and  her  language  became  more 
bitter  as  her  ally  faltered.  Philip 
was  a  drunkard ;  Philip  was  a  prod- 
igal ;  Philip  was  a  frequenter  of  dis- 
solute haunts  and  loose  companions. 
She  had  the  best  authority  for  what 
she  said.  Was  not  a  mother  anxious 
for  the-  welfare  of  her  own  child  ? 
("  Begad,  you  don't  suppose  your 
own  mother  would  do  anything  that 
was  not  for  your  welfare,  now ' " 
broke  in  the  General,  feebly.)  "Do 
you  think  if  he  had  not  been  drunk 
he  would  have  ventured  to  commit 
such  an  atrocious  outrage  as  that  at 
the  Embassy  ?  And  do  you  suppose 
I  want  a  drunkard  and  a  beggar  to 
marry  my  daughter  ?  Your  ingrati- 
tude, Charlotte,  is  horrible !  "  cries 
mamma.  And  poor  Philip,  charged 
with  drunkenness,  had  dined  for 
seventeen  sous,  with  a  carafon  of  beer, 
and  had  counted  on  a  supper  that 
night  by  little  Charlotte's  side :  so, 
while  the  child  lay  sobbing  on  her 
bed,  thii  mother  stood  over  her,  and 
lashed  her.  For  General  Baynes  — 
a  brave  man,  a  kind-hearted  man  — 
to  have  to  look  on  whilst  this  torture 
was  inflicted,  must  have  been  a  hard 
duty.  He  could  not  eat  the  boarding- 
house  dinner,  though  he  took  his 
place  at  the  table  at  the  sound  of  the 
dismal  bell.  Madame  herself  was  not 
])rcsent  at  the  meal ;  and  you  know 
]>oor  Charlotte's  plai-e  was  vacant. 
Her  father  went  up  stairs,  and  paused 
by  her  bedroom  door,  and  listened. 
He  heard  murmurs  within,  and  ma- 
dame's  voice,  as  he  stumbled  at  the 
door,  cried  harshly,  "  Qui  est  la  ? " 
He  entered.  Madami;  was  sitting  on 
the  bed,  with  Charlotte's  head  on  her 
lap.  The  thick  brown  tresses  wore 
falling  over  the  child's  white  night- 
dress, and  she  lay  almost  motionless, 


and  sobbing  feebly.  "Ah,  it  is  you, 
General !  "  said  madame.  "  You  have 
done  a  pretty  work,  sir ! "  "  Mamma 
says,  won't  you  take  something, 
Charlotte  dear?"  faltered  the  old 
man.  "  Will  you  leave  her  tran- 
quil ?  "  said  madame,  with  her  deep 
voice.  The  father  retreated.  When 
madame  went  out  presently,  to  get 
that  panacea,  une  tass^  de  the,  for  her 
poor  little  friend,  she  found  the  old 
gentleman  seated  on  a  portmanteau 
at  his  door.  "  Is  she  —  is  she  a  little 
better  now  ?  "  he  sobbed  out.  Ma- 
dame shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
looked  down  on  the  veteran  with  su- 
perb scorn.  "  Vous  n'etes  qu'un  pol- 
tron,  Gene'ral !  "  she  said,  and  swept 
down  stairs.  Baynes  was  beaten  in- 
deed. He  was  suffering  horrible  pain. 
He  was  quite  unmanned,  and  tears 
were  trickling  down  his  old  cheeks  as 
he  sat  wretchedly  there  in  the  dark. 
His  wife  did  not  leave  the  table  as 
long  as  dinner  and  dessert  lasted. 
She  read  Galignani  resolutely  after- 
wards. She  told  the  children  not  to 
make  a  noise,  as  their  sister  was  up 
stairs  with  a  bad  headache.  But  she 
revoked  that  statement,  as  it  were 
(as  she  revoked  at  cards  presently), 
by  asking  the  Miss  Bolderos  to  play 
;  one  of  their  duets. 

j      I  wonder   whether   Philip   walked 
up  and  down  before  the  house  that 
night  ^     Ah  !  it  was  a  dismal  night 
for  all  of  them  :   a  racking  pain,  a 
;  cruel  sense  of  shame,  throbbed  under 
i  Baynes's  cotton    tassel ;  and  as    for 
i  Mrs.   Baynes,  I  hope  there  was  not 
I  much  rest  or  comfort  under  her  old 
nightcap.     Madame  passed  the  great- 
er part  of  the  night  in  a  great  chair 
in    Charlotte's    bedroom,   where   the 
poor  child  heard  the  Kours  toll  one 
\  after  the  other,  and  found  no  comfort 
in  the  dreary  rising  of  the  dawn. 

At  a  very  early  hour  of  the  dismal 
rainy  morning,  what  made  poor  little 
Charlotte  fling  her  arms  round 
madame,  and  cry  out,  "  Ah,  que  je 
vous  aime !  ah,  que  vous  etes  bonne, 
madame !  "  and  smile  almost  happily 
through  her  tears  ^     In  the  first  place, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


279 


Tnadarae  went  to  Charlotte's  dressing- 
table,  whence  she  took  a  pair  of 
scissors.  Then  the  little  maid  sat  up 
on  her  bed,  with  her  brown  hair 
clustering  over  her  shoulders ;  and 
madame  took  a  lock  of  it,  and  cut  a 
thick  curl ;  and  kissed  poor  little  Char- 
lotte's red  eyes ;  and  laid  her  pale  cheek 
on  the  pillow,  and  carefully  covered 
her ;  and  bade  her,  with  many  tender 
words,  to  go  to  sleep.  "  If  you  are 
very  good,  and  will  go  to  sleep,  he 
shall  have  it  in  half  an  hour,'' 
madame  said.  "  And  as  I  go  down 
stairs,  I  will  tell  Franyoise  to  have 
some  tea  ready  for  you  when  you 
ring."  And  this  promise,  and  the 
thought  of  what  madame  was  going 
to  do,  comforted  Charlotte  in  her 
misery.  And  with  many  fond,  fond 
prayers  for  Philip,  and  consoled  by 
thinking,  "  Now  she  must  have  gone 
the  greater  part  of  the  way  ;  now  she 
must  be  with  him ;  now  he  knows  I 
will  never,  never  love  any  but  him," 
she  fell  asleep  at  length  on  her 
moistened  pillow  :  and  was  smiling  in 
Iher  sleep,  and  I  dare  say  dreaming 
of  Philip,  when  the  noise  of  the  fall 
of  a  piece  of  furniture  roused  her, 
and  she  awoke  out  of  her  dream  to 
see  the  grim  old  mother,  in  her  white 
nightcap  and  white  dressing-gown, 
standing  by  her  side. 

Never  mind.  "  She  has  seen  him 
now.  She  has  told  him  now,"  was 
the  child's  very  first  thought  as  her 
eyes  fairly  opened.  "  He  knows 
that  I  never,  never  will  think  of 
any  but  him."  She  felt  as  if  she 
was  actually  there  in  Philip's  room, 
speaking  herself  to  him  ;  murmuring 
vows  which  her  fond  lips  had  whis- 

f)ered  many  and  many  a  time  to  her 
over.  And  now  he  knew  she  would 
never  break  them,  she  was  consoled 
and  felt  more  courage. 

"  You  hava  had  some  sleep,  Char- 
lotte >  "  asks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  asleep,  mamma." 
As  she  speaks,  she  feels  under  the 
pillow  a  little  locket  containing  — 
what  ?  I  suppose  a  scrap  of  Mr, 
Philip's  lank  hair. 


"  I  hope  you  are  in  a  less  wicked 
frame  of  mind  than  when  I  left 
you  last  night,"  continues  the  ma- 
tron. 

"  Was  I  Avicked  for  loving  Philip  ? 
Then  I  am  wicked  still,  mamma ! " 
cries  the  child,  sitting  up  in  her  bed. 
And  she  clutches  that  little  lock 
of  hair  which  nestles  under  her 
pillow. 

"  What  nonsense,  child !  This  is 
what  you  get  out  of  your  stupid 
novels.  I  tell  you  he  does  not  think 
about  you.  He  is  quite  a  reckless, 
careless  libertine." 

"  Yes,  so  reckless  and  careless  that 
we  owe  him  the  bread  we  eat.  He 
does  n't  think  of  me !  Doesn't  he? 
Ah  — "  Here  she  paused  as  a  clock 
in  a  neighboring  chamber  began  to 
strike.  "  Now,"  she  thought,  "  he 
has  got  my  message ! "  A  smile 
dawned  over  her  face.  She  sank 
back  on  her  pillow,  turning  her  head 
from  her  mother.  She  kissed  the 
locket,  and  murmured  :  "  Not  think 
of  me !  Don't  you,  don't  you,  my 
dear !  "  She  did  not  heed  the  wo- 
man by  her  side,  hear  her  voice,  or 
.for  a  moment  seem  aware  of  her 
presence.  Charlotte  was  away  in 
Philip's  room ;  she  saw  him  talking 
with  her  messenger ;  heard  his 
voice  so  deep  and  so  sweet ;  knew 
that  the  promises  he  had  spoken 
he  never  would  break.  With  gleam- 
ing eyes  and  flushing  cheeks  she 
looked  at  her  mother,  her  enemy. 
She  held  her  talisman  locket  and 
pressed  it  to  her  heart.  No,  she 
would  never  be  untrue  to  him !  No, 
he  would  never,  never  desert  her ! 
And  as  Mrs.  Baynes  looked  at  the 
honest  indignation  beaming  in  the 
child's  face,  she  read  Charlotte's 
revolt,  defiance,  perhaps  victory.  The 
meek  child  who  never  before  had 
questioned  an  order  or  formed  a 
wish  which  she  would  not  sacrifice  at 
her  mother's  order,  was  now  in  arms 
asserting  independence.  But  I  should 
think  mamma  is  not  going  to  give  up 
the  command  after  a  single  act  of 
revolt ;   and  that  she   will  try   mor« 


280 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


attempts  than  one  to  cajole  or  coerce 
her  rebel. 

Meanwhile  let  Fancy  leave  the 
talisman  locket  nestling  on  Char- 
lotte's little  heart  (in  which  soft  shel- 
ter methinks  it  were  pleasant  to  lin- 
ger). Let  her  wrap  a  shawl  round 
her,  and  affix  to  her  feet  a  pair  of 
stout  goloshes ;  let  her  walk  rapidly 
through  the  muddy  Champs  Elyse'es, 
where,  in  this  inclement  season,  only 
a  few  policemen  and  artisans  are  to 
lie  found  moving.  Let  her  pay  a  half- 
penny at  the  Pont  des  Invalides,  and 
so  march  stoutly  along  the  quays,  by 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  where  as 
yet  deputies  assemble :  and  trudge 
along  the  river-side,  until  she  reaches 
Seine  Street,  into  which,  as  you  all 
know,  the  Rue  Poussin  debouches. 
Tliis  was  the  road  brave  Madame 
Smolensk  took  on  a  gusty,  rainy  au- 
tumn morning,  and  on  foot,  for  five- 
frauc  pieces  were  scarce  with  the  good 
woman.  Before  the  *"'  Hotel  Poussin  " 
(ah,  qa'on  y  etait  bien  a  vingt  ans!)  is 
a  little  painted  wicket  which  opens, 
ringing,  and  then  there  is  the  passage, 
you  know,  with  the  stair  leading  to 
the  upper  regions,  to  Monsieur 
Philippe  s  room,  which  is  on  the  first 
floor,  as  is  that  of  Bouchard,  the 
painter,  who  has  his  atelier  over  the 
way.  A  bad  painter  is  Bouchard, 
but  a  worthy  friend,  a  cheery  com- 
panion, a  modest,  amiable  gentleman. 
And  a  rare  good  fellow  is  Laberge  of 
the  second  floor,  the  poet  from  Car- 
cassonne, who  pretends  to  be  study- 
ing law,  but  whose  heart  is  with  the 
Muses,  and  whose  talk  is  of  Victor 
Hugo  and  Alfred  de  Musset,  whose 
verses  he  will  repeat  to  all  comers. 
Near  Laberge  (I  think  I  have  heard 
Piiilip  say)  lived  Escasse,  a  Southern 
man  too,  —  a  capitalist,  —  a  clerk  in 
a  bank,  quoi!)  —  whose  apartment 
was  decorated  sumptuously  with  his 
own  furniture,  who  had  Spanish  wine 
and  sausages  in  cupboards,  and  a  bag 
of  dollars  for  a  friend  in  need.  Is 
Escasse  alive  still  1  Philip  Firmin 
Avonders,  and  that  old  Colonel,  who 
lived  on  the  same  floor,  and  who  had 


been  a  prisoner  in  England  ?  What 
wonderful  descriptions  that  Colonel 
Duj  arret  had  of  les  Meess  Ang/aises 
and  their  singularities  of  dress  and 
behavior !  Though  conquered  and  a 
prisoner,  what  a  conqueror  and  en- 
slaver he  was,  when  in  our  country ! 
You  see,  in  his  rough  way,  Philip 
used  to  imitate-  these  people  to  his 
friends,  and  we  almost  fancied  we 
could  see  the  hotel  before  us.  It  was 
very  clean ;  it  was  very  cheap  ;  it  was 
very  dark ;  it  was  very  cheerful ;  — 
capital  coffee  and  bread-and-butter 
for  breakfast  for  fifteen  sous  ;  capital 
bedroom  au  premier  for  thirty  francs 
a  month,  —  dinner  if  you  would  for 
I  forget  how  little,  and  a  merry  talk 
round  the  pipes  and  the  grog  after- 
wards, —  the  grog,  or  the  modest 
eau  sucr^e.  Here  Colonel  Duj  arret 
recorded  his  victories  over  both  sexes. 
Here  Colonel  Tymowski  sighed  over 
his  enslaved  Poland.  Tymowski  was 
the  second  who  was  to  act  for  Philip, 
in  case  the  Ringwood  Twysden  affair 
should  have  come  to  any  violent  con- 
clusion. Here  Laberge  bawled  poetry 
to  Philip,  who  no  doubt  in  his  turn 
confided  to  the  young  Frenchman  his 
own  hopes  and  passion.  Deep  into 
the  night  he  would  sit  talking  of  his 
love,  of  her  goodness,  of  her  beauty, 
of  her  innocence,  of  her  dreadful 
mother,  of  her  good  old  father.  Que 
sais-fe  ?  Have  we  not  said  that  when 
this  man  had  anything  on  his  mind, 
straightway  he  bellowed  forth  his 
opinions  to  the  universe?  Philip, 
away  from  his  love,  would  roar  out 
her  praises  for  hours  and  hours  to 
Laberge,  until  the  candles  burned 
down,  until  the  hour  for  rest  Avas 
come  and  could  be  delayed  no  longer. 
Then  he  would  hie  to  bed  with  a 
prayer  for  her ;  and  the  very  instant 
he  awoke  begin  to  think  of  her,  and 
l)less  her,  and  thank  God  for  her  love. 
Poor  as  Mr.  Philip  was,  yet  as  the 
possessor  of  health,  content,  honor, 
and  that  priceless  pure  jewel  the  girl's 
love,  I  think  we  will  not  pity  him 
much ;  though,  on  tiie  night  when  he 
received    his     dismissal     from    Mrs, 


THE  ADVf:NTURKS   OF  rillLIP. 


281 


Bayncs,  he  must  have  passed  an  aw- 
ful time,  to  be  sure.  Toss,  Philip,  on 
your  bed  of  pain,  and  doubt,  and 
fear.  Toll,  heavy  hours,  from  niyiit 
till  dawn.  Ah  !  't  was  a  weary  ni^rht 
through  which  two  sad  young  hearts 
heard  you  tolling. 

At  a  pretty  early  hour  the  various 
occupants  of  the  crib  at  the  Kiie 
Poussin  used  to  appear  in  the  dingy 
little  salle-a-manger,  and  partake  of 
the  breakfast  there  provided.  Mon- 
sieur Menou,  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
shared  and  distributed  the  meal. 
Madame  Menou,  with  a  Madras 
handkerchief  round  her  grizzling  head, 
laid  down  the  smoking  coffee  on  tiie 
shining  oil-cloth,  whilst  e.ich  guest 
helped  himself  out  of  a  litth-.  museum 
of  napkins  to  his  own  particular 
towel.  The  room  was  small ;  the 
breakfast  was  not  fine ;  the  guests  who 
partook  of  it  were  certainly  not  re- 
markable for  the  luxury  of  clean  lin- 
en ;  but  Philip  —  who  is  many  years 
older  now  than  when  he  dwelt  in  this 
hotel,  and  is  not  pinched  for  money 
at  all  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear 
(and  between  ourselves  has  become 
rather  a  gourmand)  —  declares  he 
was  a  very  happy  youth  at  this  hum- 
ble "Hotel  Poussin,"  and  sighs  for 
the  days  when  he  was  sighing  for  Miss 
Charlotte. 

Well,  he  has  passed  a  dreadful  night 
of  gloom  and  terror.  I  doubt  that  he 
has  bored  Labcrge  very  much  with  his 
tears  and  despondency.  And  now 
morning  has  come,  and,  as  he  is  having 
his  breakfast  with  one  or  more  of  the 
before-named  worthies,  the  little  boy- 
of-all-work  enters,  grinning,  his  plumet 
under  his  arm,  and  cries  "  Une  dame 
pour  M.  Philippe  !  " 

"  Une  dame  !  "  says  the  French 
colonel,  looking  up  from  his  paper. 
"  AUez,  mauvais  sujet !  " 

"  Grand  Dieu !  what  has  happen- 
ed ? "  cries  Philip,  running  forward, 
as  he  recognizes  madame's  tall  figure 
in  the  passage.  They  go  up  to  his 
room,  1  suppose,  regardless  of  the 
grins  and  sneers  of  the  little  boy  with 
the  pluiiiet,  who  aids  the  maid-servant 


to  make  the  beds  ;  and  who  thinks 
Monsieur  Philippe  has  a  very  elderly 
aciiuaiiitance. 

Philip  closes  the  door  upon  his 
visitor,  who  looks  at  him  with  so 
much  liopc,  kindness,  confidence  in 
her  eyes,  that  the  poor  fellow  is  en- 
couraged almost  ere  she  begins  to 
speak.  "  Yes,  you  have  reason ;  I 
come  from  the  little  person,"  Madame 
Smolensk  said.  "  The  means  of  re- 
sisting that  poor  dear  angel !  She 
has  passed  a  sad  night  ■?  "What  ? 
You,  too,  have  not  been  to  bed,  poor 
youngman  !"  Indeed  Philip  had  only 
thrown  himself  on  his  bed,  and  had 
kicked  there,  and  had  groaned  there, 
and  h:ul  tossed  there ;  and  had  tried  to 
read,  and  I  dare  say,  remembered 
aftenvards,  with  a  strange  interest, 
the  book  he  read,  and  that  other 
thought  which  was  throbbing  in  his 
brain  all  the  time  whilst  he  was  read- 
ing, and  whilst  the  wakeful  hours 
went  wearily  tolling  by. 

"  No,  in  effect,"  says  poor  Philip, 
rolling  a  dismal  cigarette ;  "  the  night 
has  not  been  too  fine.  And  she  has 
sufi'ered  too  1  Heaven  bless  her !  " 
And  then  Madame  Smolensk  told  liow 
the  little  dear  angel  had  cried  all  the 
night  long,  and  how  the  Smolensk 
had  not  succeeded  in  comforting  her, 
until  she  promised  she  would  go  to 
Philip,  and  tell  him  that  his  Charlotte 
would  be  his  forever  and  ever ;  that 
she  never  could  think  of  any  man  but 
him  ;  that  he  was  the  best,  and  the 
dearest,  and  the  bravest,  and  the  truest 
Philip,  and  that  she  did  not  believe 
one  word  of  those  wicked  stories  told 
against  him  by  —  "Hold,  Monsieur 
Philippe,  I  supj)0se  Madame  la  Gene'- 
rale  has  been  talking  about  you,  and 
loves  you  no  more,"  cried  Madame 
Smolensk.  "  We  other  women  are 
assassins  —  assassins,  see  you !  But 
Madame  la  Ge'ne'rale  went  too  far  with 
the  little  maid.  She  is  an  obedient 
little  maid,  the  dear  Miss  !  —  trem- 
bling before  her  mother,  and  always 
ready  to  yield,  —  only  now  her  spirit 
is  roused  ;  and  she  is  yours  and  yours 
only.     The  little  dear,  gentle  child ' 


282 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Ah,  how  pretty  she  was,  leaning  on 
my  shoulder.  I  held  her  there,  — yes, 
there,  my  poor  gar(;on,  and  I  cut  this 
from  her  neck,  and  brought  it  to  thee. 
Come,  embrace  me.  Weep ;  that 
does  good,  Philip.  I  love  thee  well. 
Go  —  and  thy  little  —  it  is  an  angel !  " 
And  so,  in  the  hour  of  their  pain, 
myriads  of  manly  hearts  have  found 
woman's  love  ready  to  soothe  their 
anguish. 

Leaving  to  Philip  that  thick  curling 
lock  of  brown  hair  (from  a  head 
where  now,  mayhap,  there  is  a  line 
or  two  of  matron  silver),  this  Samar- 
itan plods  her  way  back  to  her  own 
house,  where  her  own  cares  await  her. 
But  though  the  way  is  long,  madame's 
step  is  lighter  now,  as  she  thinks  how 
Charlotte  at  the  journey's  end  is  wait- 
ing for  news  of  Philip  ;  and  I  suppose 
there  are  more  kisses  and  embraces, 
when  the  good  soul  meets  with  the 
little  suiFering  girl,  and  tells  her  how 
Philip  will  remain  forever  true  and 
faithful ;  and  how  true  love  must 
come  to  a  happy  ending ;  and  how  she, 
Smolensk,  will  do  all  in  her  power  to 
aid,  comfort,  and  console  her  young 
friends.  As  for  the  writer  of  Mr. 
Philip's  memoirs,  you  see  I  never 
try  to  make  any  concealments.  I 
have  told  you,  all  along,  that  Charlotte 
and  Philip  are  married,  and  I  believe 
tlieyare  happy.  But  it  is  certain  that 
they  suffered  dreadfully  at  this  time 
of  their  lives  ;  and  my  wife  says  that 
Charlotte,  if  she  alludes  to  the  period 
and  the  trial,  speaks  as  though  they 
had  both  undergone  some  hideous  op- 
eration, the  remembrance  of  which 
forever  causes  a  pang  to  the  memory. 
So,  my  young  lady,  will  you  have 
your  trial  one  day,  to  be  borne,  pray 
Heaven,  with  a  meek  spirit.  Ah,  how 
surely  the  turn  comes  to  all  of  us ! 
Look  at  Madame  Smolensk  at  her 
luncheon-table,  this  day  after  her  visit 
to  Philip  at  his  lodging,  after  com- 
forting little  Charlotte  in  her  pain. 
How  brisk  she  is  !  How  good-na- 
tured !  How  she  smiles !  How  she 
speaks  to  all  her  company,  and  carves 
for  her  guests !    You  do  not  suppose 


she  has  no  griefs  and  cares  of  her  own  1 
You  know  better.  I  dare  say  she  is 
thinking  of  her  creditors ;  of  her 
poverty ;  of  that  accepted  bill  which 
will  come  due  next  week,  and  so  forth. 
The  Samaritan  who  rescues  you,  most 
likely,  has  been  robbed  and  has  bled 
in  his  day,  and  it  is  a  wounded  arm 
that  bandages  yours  when  bleeding. 

If  Anatole,  the  boy  who  scoured 
the  plain  at  the  "  Hotel  Poussin." 
with  his  pliimet  in  his  jacket-pocket, 
and  his  slippers  soled  with  scrubbing 
brushes,  saw  the  embrace  between 
Philip  and  his  good  friend,  I  believe, 
in  his  experience  at  that  hotel,  he  never 
witnessed  a  transaction  more  honora- 
ble, generous,  and  blameless.  Put 
what  construction  you  will  on  the 
business,  Anatole,  you  little  imp  of 
mischief!  your  mother  never  gave 
you  a  kiss  more  tender  than  that  which 
Madame  Smolensk  bestowed  on  Philip 
—  than  that  which  she  gave  Philip — 
than  that  which  she  earned  back  from 
him  and  faithfully  placed  on  poor  lit- 
tle Charlotte's  pale  round  cheek.  The 
world  is  full  of  love  and  pity,  I  say. 
Had  there  been  less  suffering,  there 
would  have  been  less  kindness.  I,  for 
one,  almost  wish  to  be  ill  again,  so 
that  the  friends  who  succored  me 
might  once  more  come  to  my  rescue. 

To  poor  little  wounded  Charlotte 
in  her  bed,  our  friend  the  mistress  of 
the  boarding-house  brought  back  in- 
expressible comfort.  Whatever  might 
betide,  Philip  would  never  desert  her ! 
"  Think  you  I  would  ever  have  gone 
on  such  an  embassy  for  a  French  girl, 
or  interfered  between  her  and  her  par- 
ents ?  "  Madame  asked.  "  Never, 
never!  But  you  and  Monsieur  Phi- 
lippe are  already  betrothed  before 
Heaven ;  and  I  should  despise  you, 
Charlotte,  I  should  despise  him,  were 
either  to  draw  back."  This  little 
point  being  settled  in  Miss  Charlotte's 
mind,  I  can  fancy  she  is  immensely 
soothed  and  comforted  ;  that  hope  and 
courage  settle  in  her  heart ;  that  the  col- 
or comes  back  to  her  young  cheeks ; 
that  she  can  come  and  join  her  family 
as  she  did  yesterday.     "  I  told  you  sh« 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


283 


never  cared  about  him,"  says  Mrs. 
Baynes  to  her  husband.  "Paitli,  no, 
she  can't  have  cared  much,"  says 
Baynes,  with  something  of  a  sorrow 
that  his  girl  should  be  so  light-minded. 
But  you  and  I,  who  have  been  behind 
the  scenes,  who  have  peeped  into  Phil- 
ip's bedroom  and  behind  poor  Char- 
lotte's modest  curtains,  know  that 
the  girl  had  revolted  from  her  parents ; 
and  so  children  will 'if  the  authority 
exercised  over  them  is  too  tyrannical 
or  unjust.  Gentle  Charlotte,  who 
scarce  ever  resisted,  was  aroused  and 
in  rebellion  :  honest  Charlotte,  who 
used  to  speak  all  her  thoughts,  now 
hid  them  and  deceived  father  and 
mother;  —  yes,  deceived:  —  what  a 
confession  to  make  regarding  a  young 
lady,  the  prima  donna  of  our  opera  ! 
Mrs.  Baynes  is,  as  usual,  writing  her 
lengthy  scrawls  to  Sister  MacWhirter 
at  Tours,  and  informs  the  Major's 
lady  that  she  has  very  great  satisfac- 
tion in  at  last  being  able  to  announce 
"  that  that  most  imprudent  and  in  all 
respects  ineligible  engagement  be- 
tween her  Charlotte  and  a  certain 
young  man,  son  of  a  bankrupt  London 
physician,  is  come  to  an  end.  Mr. 
F.'s  conduct  has  been  so  wild,  so  gross, 
so  disorderly,  and  ungentlemanlike,  that 
the  General  (and  you  know,  Maria, 
how  soft  and  sweet  a  tempered  man 
Baynes  is)  has  told  Mr.  Firmin  his 
opinion  in  unmistakable  words,  and 
forbidden  him  to  continue  his  visits. 
After  seeing  him  every  day  for  six 
months,  during  which  time  she  has 
accustomed  herself  to  his  peculiarities, 
and  his  often  coarse  and  odious  ex- 
pressions and  conduct,  no  wonder 
the  separation  has  Ijeen  a  shock  to 
dear  Char,  though  I  believe  the  young 
man  feels  nothing  who  has  been  the 
cause  of  all  this  grief.  That  he  cares 
but  little  for  her  has  been  my  opinion 
all  along,  though  she,  artless  child, 
gave  him  her  whole  affection.  He 
has  been  accustomed  to  throw  over 
women ;  and  the  brother  of  a  young 
lady  whom  Mr.  F.  had  courted  and  lefl. 
(and  who  has  made  a  most  excellent 
match  since)  showed  bis  indignation 


I  at  Mr.  F.'s  conduct  at  the  Embassy 
I  ball  the  other  night,  on  which  the 
young  man  took  advantage  of  his 
greatly  superior  size  and  strength  to 
j  l)Cgin  a  vulgar  Imxing-match,  in  which 
both  parties  were  severely  wounded. 
j  Of  course  you  saw  the  paragraph  in 
]  Galignani  about  the  whole  affair.  I 
I  sent  our  dresses,  but  it  did  not  print 
;  them,  though  our  names  appeared  as 
amongst  the  company.  Anything 
more  singular  than  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  F.  you  cannot  well  imagine. 
I  wore  my  garnets ;  Charlotte  (who 
attracted  universal  admiration)  was 
in,  &c.  &c.  Of  course,  the  separation 
has  occasioned  her  a  good  deal  of 
pain ;  for  Mr.  F.  certainly  behaved 
with  much  kindness  and  forbearance 
on  a  previous  occasion.  But  the  Gen- 
eral will  not  hear  of  the  continuance  of 
the  connection.  He  says  the  young 
man's  conduct  has  been  too  gross  and 
shameful ;  and  when  once  roused,  you 
know,  I  might  as  well  attempt  to 
chain  a  tiger  as  Baynes.  Our  poor 
Char  will  suffer  no  doubt  in  conse- 
quence of  the  behavior  of  this  brute, 
but  she  has  ever  been  an  obedient 
child,  who  knows  how  to  honor  her 
father  and  mother.  She  hears  up  uon- 
derfullij,  though,  of  course,  the  dear 
child  suffers  at  the  parting.  I  think  if 
she  were  to  go  to  you  and  Mac  Whirter  at 
Tours  for  a  month  w  two,  she  would  be 
all  the  better  for  change  of  air,  too, 
dear  Mac.  Come  and  fetch  her,  and 
we  will  pay  the  dawk.  She  would  go 
to  certain  poverty  and  wretchedness 
did  she  marry  this  most  violent  and 
disreputable  young  man.  The  Gen- 
eral sends  regards  to  Mac,  and  I  am," 
&c. 

That  these  were  the  actual  words 
of  Mrs.  Baynes's  letter  I  cannot,  as  a 
veracious  biographer,  take  upon  my- 
self to  say.  I  never  saw  the  docu- 
ment, though  I  have  had  the  good 
fortune  to  peruse  others  from  the 
same  hand.  Charlotte  saw  the  letter 
some  time  after,  upon  one  of  those 
not  unfrcquent  occasions,  when  a 
quarrel  occurred  between  the  two  sis- 
ters, —  Mrs.  Major  and  Mrs.  General, 


284 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


—  and  Charlotte  mentioned  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter  to  a  friend  of  mine 
who  has  talked  to  me  about  his  affairs, 
and  especially  his  love-affairs,  for 
many  and  many  a  long  hour.  And 
shrewd  old  woman  as  Mrs.  Baynes 
may  be,  you  may  see  how  utterly  she 
was  mistiiken  in  fancying  that  her 
daughter's  obedience  was  still  secure. 
The  little  maid  had  left  father  and 
mother,  at  first  with  their,  eager  sanc- 
tion ;  her  love  had  been  given  to  Fir- 
min;  and  an  inmate  —  a  prisoner  if 
you  will  —  under  her  father's  roof, 
her  heart  remained  with  Philip,  how- 
ever time  or  distance  might  separate 
them. 

And  now,  as  we  have  the  command 
of  Philip's  desk,  and  are  free  to  open 
and  read  the  private  letters  which  re- 
late to  his  history,  I  take  leave  to  put 
in  a  document  which  was  penned  in 
his  place  of  exile  by  his  worthy  fa- 
ther, upon  receiving  the  news  of  the 
quarrel  described  in  the  last  chapter 
of  these  memoirs  :  — 

"  AsTOR  Hotras,  New  York, 
"  September  27. 
r^DKAK  Philip,  —  I  received  the 
news  in  your  last  kind  and  affbction- 
ate  letter  with  not  unmingled  pleas- 
ure: but  ah,  what  pleasure  in  life 
does  not  carry  its  ainari  aliquid  along 
with  it !  That  you  are  hearty,  cheer- 
ful, and  industrious,  earning  a  small 
competence,  I  am  pleased  indeed  to 
think:  that  you  talk  about  being 
married  to  a  penniless  girl  I  can't  say 
gives  me  a  very  sincere  pleasure. 
"With  your  good  looks,  good  manners, 
attainments,  you  might  have  hoped 
for  a  better  match  than  a  half-pay 
officer's  daughter.  But  'tis  useless 
spxulating  on  what  might  have  been. 
We  are  puppets  in  the  hands  of  fate, 
most  of  us.  We  are  carried  along  by 
a  power  stronger  than  ourselves.  It 
has  driven  me,  at  sixty  years  of  age, 
from  competence,  general  respect, 
high  position,  to  poverty  and  exile. 
So  be  it!  laudo  manente'm,  as  my  de- 
lightful old  friend  and  philosopher 
teaches  me,  — si  ceieres  quatit  p&iitas,  — 


you  know  the  rest.  Whatever  our 
fortune  may  be,  I  hope  that  my  Philip 
and  his  father  will  bear  it  with  the 
courage  of  gentlemen. 

"  Our  papers  have  announced  the 
death  of  your  poor  mother's  uncle, 
Ixjrd  Ringwood,  and  I  had  a  fond 
lingering  hope  that  he  might  have  left 
some  token  o^  remembrance  to  his 
brother's  grandson,  lie  has  not. 
You  have  prohatn  pauperiem  sine  dote. 
You  have  courage,  health,  strength, 
and  talent.  I  was  in  greater  straits 
than  you  are  at  your  age.  My  father 
was  not  as  indulgent  as  yours,  I  hope 
and  trust,  has  been.  From  debt  and 
dependence  I  worked  myself  up  to  a 
proud  position  by  my  own  efforts. 
That  the  storm  overtook  me  and  en- 
gulfed me  afterwards,  is  true.  But 
I  am  like  the  merchant  of  my  favor- 
ite poet :  I  still  hope  —  ay,  at  sixty- 
three  !  —  to  mend  my  shattered  ships, 
indocilis  pauperiem  jxUi.  I  still  hope 
to  pay  back  to  my  dear  boy  that  for- 
tune which  ought  to  have  been  his, 
and  which  went  down  in  my  own 
shipwreck.  Something  tells  me  I 
must,  —  I  will ! 

"  I  agree  with  yon  that  your  escape 
from  Agnes  Twysden  has  been  a  piece 
of  good  fortune  for  you,  and  am  much 
diverted  by  your  account  of  her  dusky 
innamorato!  Between  ourselves,  the 
fondness  of  the  Twysdens  for  money 
amounted  to  meanness.  And  though 
I  always  received  Twysden  in  dear 
old  Parr  Street,  as  I  trust  a  gentle- 
man should,  his  company  was  insuf- 
ferably tedious  to  me,  and  his  vulgar 
loquacity  odious.  His  son  also  was 
little  to  my  taste.  Indeed  I  was 
heartily  relieved  when  I  found  your 
connection  with  that  family  was  over, 
knowmg  their  rapacity  about  money^ 
and  that  it  was  your  fortune,  not  you, 
they  were  anxious  to  secure  for  Agnes. 
"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am 
in  not  inconsiderable  practice  already. 
My  reputation  as  a  physician  had  pre- 
ceded me  to  this  country.  My  work 
on  Gout  was  favorably  noticed  here, 
and  in  Philadelphia,  and  in  Boston, 
by   the  scientific  joomals  of  those 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 


285 


great  cities.  People  are  more  penc- 
rous  anil  compassionate  towards  mis- 
fortune here  than  in  our  cold-hearted 
island.  1  could  mention  several  <i:eii- 
tlemen  of  New  York  who  have  suf- 
fered shipwreck  like  myself,  and  are 
now  prosperous  and  respected.  1  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  of  considerable 
professional  service  to  Colonel  J.  B. 
Fogle,  of  New  York,  on  our  voyage 
out ;  and  the  Colonel,  who  is  a  lead- 
ing personage  here,  has  shown  him- 
self not  at  all  ungrateful.  Those 
who  fancy  that  at  New  York  people 
cannot  appreciate  and  understand  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  are  itot  a  lit- 
tle mistaken;  and  a  man  who,  like 
myself,  has  lived  with  the  best  society 
in  London,  has,  I  flatter  myself,  not 
lived  in  that  society  quite  in  vain. 
The  Colonel  is  proprietor  and  editor 
of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  influ- 
ential journals  of  the  city.  You 
know  that  arms  and  the  toga  are 
often  worn  here  by  the  same  individ- 
ual, and  — 

"I  had  actually  written  thus  far 
when  I  read  in  the  Colonel's  paper  — 
the  New  York  Emerald  —  an  account 
of  your  battle  with  your  cousin  at  the 
Embassy  ball !  O  you  pugnacious 
Philip !  Well,  young  Twysden  was 
very  vulgar,  very  rude  and  overbear- 
ing, and,  I  have  no  doubt,  deserved 
the  chastisement  you  gave  him.  By 
the  way,  the  correspondent  of  the  Em- 
erald makes  some  droll  blunders  re- 
garding you  in  his  letter.  We  are  all 
tair  game  for  publicity  in  this  coun- 
try, where  the  press  is  free  with  a  ven- 
(jetince;  and  your  private  affairs,  or 
mine,  or  the  President's,  or  our  gra- 
cious Queen's,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
are  discussed  with  a  freedom  which 
certainly  amounts  to  license.  The 
Colonel's  lady  is  passing  the  winter 
in  Paris,  where  I  should  wish  you  to 
pay  your  respects  to  her.  Her  hus- 
band has  been  most  kind  to  me.  I 
am  told  that  Mrs.  F.  lives  in  the  very 
choicest  French  society,  and  the 
friendship  of  this  family  may  be  u.se- 
ful  to  you  as  to  your  sdiectionate  fa- 
ther, G.  B.  F. 


"  Address  as  usual,  until  you  hear 
furtlur  from  me,  as  Dr.  Brandon, 
New  York.  I  wonder  whether  Lord 
PvStridge  has  asked  you  after  his  old 
college  friend  ?  When  he  was  Ilcad- 
bury  and  at  Trinity,  he  and  a  certain 
pensioner  whom  men  used  to  nick- 
name Brummell  Firniin  were  said  to 
be  the  best-dressed  men  in  the  Uni- 
versity. Estridge  has  advanced  to 
rank,  to  honors  !  You  may  rely  on 
it,  that  lie  will  have  one  of  the  veiy 
next  vacant  garters.  What  a  differ- 
ent, what  an  unfortunate  career,  has 
been  his  quondam  friend's  !  —  an  ex- 
ile, an  inhabitant  of  a  small  room  in 
a  groat  liotel,  wliere  I  sit  at  a  scram- 
bling public  table  with  all  sorts  of 
coarse  people !  The  way  in  which 
they  bolt  their  dinner,  often  u-ith  a 
knife,  shocks  me.  Your  remittance 
was  most  welcome,  small  as  it  was. 
It  shows  my  Philip  has  a  kind  heart. 
Ah  !  why,  why  are  you  thinking  of 
marriage,  who  are  so  poor  ?  By  the 
way,  your  encouraging  account  of 
your  circumstances  has  induced  me 
to  draw  upon  you  for  100  dollars. 
The  bill  will  go  to  Europe  by  the 
packet  which  carries  this  letter,  and 
has  kindly  been  cashed  for  me  b}  my 
friends,  Messrs.  Plaster  and  Shin  man, 
of  Wall  Street,  respected  bankers  of 
this  city.  Leave  your  card  with  Mrs. 
Fogle.  Her  husband  himself  may  be 
useful  to  you  and  your  ever  aitached 
"Fatuek." 

We  take  the  New  York  Emerald  at 
"  Bays's,"  and  in  it  I  had  read  a  vt  ry 
amusing  account  of  our  friend  Phili]), 
in  an  ingenious  correspondence  en- 
titled "  Letters  from  an  Attache," 
which  appeared  in  that  journal.  I 
even  copied  the  paragraph  to  show  to 
my  wife,  and  perhaps  to  forward  to 
our  friend. 

"  I  promise  you,"  wrote  the  at- 
tache, "  the  new  country  did  not  dis 
grace  the  old  at  the  Bririsli  Embassy 
ballon  Queen  Vic's  birthday.  Colo- 
nel Z.  B.  Hoggins's  lady,  of  Albany, 
and  the  peerless  bride  of  Elijah  J. 
Dibbs,  of   Twenty-ninth    Street    in 


286 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


your  city,  were  the  observed  of  all 
observers  for  splendor,  for  elegance, 
for  refined  native  beauty.  The  Roy- 
al Dukes  danced  with  nobody  else ; 
and  at  the  attention  of  one  of  the 
Princes  to  the  lovely  Miss  Dibbs,  I 
observed  his  Royal  Duchess  looked  as 
black  as  thunder.  Supper  handsome. 
Back  Delmonico  to  beat  it.  Cham- 
pagne so-so.  By  the  way,  the  young 
fellow  who  writes  here  for  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  got  too  much  of  the 
champagne  on  board,  —  as  usual,  I 
am  told.  The  Honorable  R.  Twys- 
den,  of  London,  was  rude  to  my 
young  chap's  partner,  or  winked  at 
him  offensively,  or  trod  on  his  toe,  or 
I  don't  know  what, — but  young  F. 
followed  him  into  the  garden ;  hit 
out  at  him ;  sent  him  flying  like  a 
spread  eagle  into  the  midst  of  an  il- 
lumination, and  left  him  there  sprawl- 
ing. Wild,  rampageous  fellow  this 
young  F. ;  has  already  spent  his  own 
fortune,  and  ruined  his  poor  old  fa- 
ther, who  has  been  forced  to  cross 
the  water.  Old  Louis  Philippe  went 
away  early.  He  talked  long  with 
our  Minister  about  his  travels  in  our 
country.  I  was  standing  by,  but  in 
course  ain't  so  ill-bred  as  to  say  what 
passed  between  them." 

In  this  way  history  is  written.  I 
dare  say  about  others  besides  Philip, 
in  English  papers  as  well  as  Ameri- 
can, have  fables  been  narrated. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CONTAINS    A   TUG   OF   WAR. 

Who  was  the  first  to  spread  the 
report  that  Philip  was  a  prodigal,  and 
had  ruined  his  poor  confiding  father  ? 
I  thought  I  knew  a  person  who  might 
be  interested  in  getting  under  any 
shelter,  and  sacrificing  even  his  own 
son  for  his  own  advantage.  I  thought 
I  knew  a  man  who  had  done  as  much 
already,  and  surely  might  do  so 
again ;  but  my  wife  flew  into  one  of 
her  tempests  of  indignation,  when  I 
hinted  something  of  this,  clutched  her 


own  children  to  her  heart,  according 
to  her  maternal  wont,  asked  me  was 
there  any  power  would  cause  me  to 
belie  them  ?  and  sternly  rebuked  me 
for  daring  to  be  so  wicked,  heartless, 
and  cynical.  My  dear  creature, 
wrath  is  no  answer.  You  call  me 
heartless  and  cynic,  for  saying  men 
are  false  and  wicked.  Have  you 
never  heard  to  what  lengths  some 
banknipts  will  go  1  To  appease  the 
wolves  who  chase  them  in  the  winter 
forest,  have  you  not  read  how  some 
travellers  will  cast  all  their  provisions 
out  of  the  sledge  ?  then,  when  all  the 
provisions  are  gone,  don't  you  know 
that  they  will  fling  out  perhaps  the 
sister,  perhaps  the  mother,  perhaps 
the  baby,  the  little  dear  tender  inno- 
cent ?  Don't  you  see  him  tumbling 
among  the  howling  pack,  and  the 
wolves  gnashing,  gnawing,  crashing, 
gobbling  him  up  in  the  snow  ?  O 
horror  —  horror  !  My  wife  draws  all 
the  young  ones  to  her  breast  as  I  utter 
these  fiendish  remarks.  She  hugs 
them  in  her  embrace,  and  says,  "  For 
shame ! "  and  that  I  am  a  monster, 
and  so  on.  Go  to  !  Go  down  on 
your  knees,  woman,  and  acknowledge 
the  sinfulness  of  our  humankind. 
How  long  had  our  race  existed  ere 
murder  and  violence  began  ?  and  how 
old  was  the  world  ere  brother  slew 
brother  7 

Well,  my  wife  and  I  came  to  a 
compromise.  I  might  have  my 
opinion,  but  was  there  any  need  to 
communicate  it  to  pooi;  Philip  1  No, 
surely.  So  I  never  sent  him  the 
extract  from  the  New  York  Emerald  ; 
though,  of  course,  some  other  good- 
naturod  friend  did,  and  I  don't  think 
my  magnanimous  friend  cared  much. 
As  for  supposing  that  his  own  father, 
to  cover  his  own  character,  would  lie 
away  his  son's, — such  a  piece  of 
artifice  was  quite  beyond  Philip's 
comprehension,  who  has  been  all  his 
life  slow  in  appreciating  roguery,  or 
recognizing  that  there  is  meanness 
and  double-dealing  in  the  world. 
When  he  once  comes  to  understand 
the  fact ;  when  he  once  comprehendg 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP. 


287 


that  Tartuffe  is  a  humbug  and  swell- 
ing Bufo  is  a  toady;  then  my  friend 
becomes  as  absurdly  indignant  and 
mistrustful  as  before  he  was  admiring 
and  confiding.  Ah,  Philip  !  Tartufie 
has  a  number  of  good,  respectable 
qualities  ;  and  Bufo,  though  an  under- 
ground odious  animal,  may  have  a 
precious  jewel  in  his  head.  'T  is  you 
are  cynical.  /  see  the  good  qualities 
in  these  rascals  whom  you  spurn.  I 
see.  I  shrug  my  shoulders.  I  smile  : 
and  you  call  me  cynic. 

It  was  long  before  Philip  could 
comprehend  why  Charlotte's  mother 
turned  upon  him,  and  tried  to  force 
her  daughter  to  forsake  him.  "I 
have  offended  the  old  woman  in  a 
hundred  ways,"  he  would  say.  "  My 
tobacco  annoys  her ;  my  old  clothes 
offend  her ;  the  very  English  I  speak 
is  often  Greek  to  her,  and  she  can  no 
more  construe  my  sentences  than  I 
can  the  Hindostanec  jargon  she  talks 
to  her  husband  at  dinner."  "My 
dear  fellow,  if  you  had  ten  thousand 
a  year  she  would  try  and  construe 
your  sentences,  or  accept  them  even 
if  not  understood,"  I  would  reply. 
And  some  men,  whom  you  and  I  know 
to  be  mean,  and  to  be  false,  and  to 
be  flatterers  and  parasites,  and  to  be 
inexorably  hard  and  cruel  in  their 
own  private  circles,  will  surely  pull  a 
long  face  to-morrow,  and  say,  "  Oh ! 
the  man  's  so  cynical." 

I  acquit  Baynes  of  what  ensued.  I 
hold  Mrs.  B.  to  have  been  the  crimi- 
nal, —  the  stupid  criminal.  The  hus- 
band, like  many  other  men  extremely 
brave  in  active  life,  was  at  home  timid 
and  irresolute.  Of  two  heads  that  lie 
side  by  side  on  the  same  pillow  for 
thirty  years,  one  must  contain  the 
stronger  power,  the  more  enduring 
resolution.  Baynes,  away  from  his 
wife,  was  shrewd,  courageous,  gay  at 
times  ;  when  with  her  he  was  fasci- 
nated, torpid  under  the  power  of  this 
baleful  superior  creature.  "  Ah, 
when  we  were  subs  together  in  camp 
in  1803,  what  a  lively  fellow  Charley 
Baynes  was !  "  his  comrade.  Colonel 
Bunch,    would    say.      "  That    was 


before  he  ever  saw  his  wife's  yellow 
face  ;  and  what  a  slave  she  has  made 
of  liim  !  " 

After  that  fatal  conversation  which 
ensued  on  the  day  succeeding  the 
ball,  Philip  did  not  come  to  dinner  at 
madame's  according  to  his  custom. 
Mrs.  Baynes  told  no  family  stories, 
and  Colonel  Bunch,  who  had  no 
special  liking  for  the  young  gentle- 
man, did  not  trouble  himself  to  make 
any  inquiries  about  him.  One,  two, 
three  days  passed,  and  no  Philip.  At 
last  the  Colonel  says  to  the  Gen- 
eral, with  a  sly  look  at  Charlotte, 
"  Baynes,  where  is  our  young  friend 
with  the  mustache  ?  We  have  not 
seen  him  these  three  days."  And  he 
gives  an  arch  look  at  poor  Charlotte. 
A  burning  blush  flamed  up  in  little 
Charlotte's  pale  face,  as  she  looked  at 
her  parents  and  then  at  their  old 
friend.  "  Mr.  Pirmin  does  not  come, 
because  papa  and  mamma  have  for- 
bidden him,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I 
suppose  he  only  comes  where  he  is 
welcome."  And,  having  made  this 
audacious  speech,  I  suppose  the  little 
maid  tossed  her  little  head  vip  ;  and 
wondered,  in  the  silence  which  en- 
sued, whether  all  the  company  could 
hear  her  heart  thumping. 

Madame,  from  her  central  place, 
where  she  is  carving,  sees,  from  the 
looks  of  her  guests,  the  indignant 
flushes  on  Charlotte's  face,  the  confu- 
sion on  her  father's,  the  wrath  on 
Mrs.  Baynes's,  that  some  dreadful 
words  are  passing ;  and  in  vain  en- 
deavors to  turn  the  angry  current  of 
talk.  "  Un  petit  canard  delicieux, 
poutez-en,  madame  !  "  she  cries. 
Honest  Colonel  Bunch  sees  the  little 
maid  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger, 
and  trembling  in  every  limb.  The 
offered  duck  having  failed  to  create 
a  diversion,  he,  too,  tries  a  feeble 
commonplace.  "A  little  ditt'erence, 
my  dear,"  he  says,  in  an  under  voice. 
"  There  will  be  such  in  the  best-regu- 
lated families.  Canard  sauvage  tres 
bong,  madame,  avec —  "  but  he  is  al- 
lowed to  speak  no  more,  for  — 

"  What   would    you    do.   Colonel 


288 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Bunch,"  little  Charlotte  breaks  out 
with  her  poor  little  rinj,^ing,  trembling 
voice,  —  "  that  is,  if  you  were  a  young 
man,  if  another  young  man  struck 
you,  and  insulted  you  1  "  I  say  she 
utters  this  in  such  a  clear  voice,  that 
Framboise,  the  feinme-de-chambre,  that 
Auguste,  the  footman,  that  all  the 
guests  hear,  that  all  the  knives  and 
forks  stop  their  clatter. 

"  Faith,  my  dear,  I  'd  knock  him 
down  if  I  could,"  says  Bunch ;  and 
he  catches  hold  of  the  little  maid's 
sleeve,  and  would  stop  her  speaking 
if  he  could. 

"And  that  is  what  Philip  did," 
cries  Charlotte  aloud  ;  "  and  mamma 
has  turned  him  out  of  the  house, — 
yes,  out  of  the  house,  for  acting  like 
a  man  of  honor  !  " 

"  Go  to  your  room  this  instant. 
Miss  !  "  shrieks  mimiua.  As  for  old 
Baynes,  his  stained  old  uniform  is  not 
more  dingy-red  than  his  wrinkled 
face  and  his  throbbing  temples.  He 
blushes  under  his  wig,  no  doubt,  could 
we  see  beneath  that  ancient  artifice. 

"  What  is  it  ?  madume  your  moth- 
er dismisses  you  of  my  table  ?  I  will 
come  with  you,  my  dear  Miss  Char- 
lotte !  "  says  Madame,  with  much 
dignity.  "  Serve  the  sugared  plate, 
Auguste !  My  ladies,  you  will  ex- 
cuse me !  I  go  to  attend  the  dear 
miss,  who  seems  to  me  ill."  And  she 
rises  up,  and  she  follows  poor  little 
blushing,  burning,  weeping  Char- 
lotte :  and  again,  I  have  no  doubt, 
takes  her  in  her  arms,  and  kisses,  and 
cheers,  and  caresses  her,  —  at  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  —  there  by  the 
staircase,  among  the  cold  dishes  of 
the  dinner,  where  Moira  and  Mac- 
grigor  had  one  moment  before  been 
marauding. 

"  Courage,  ma  fiUe,  courage,  raon 
enfant !  Tenez  !  Behold  something 
to  console  thee  !  "  and  madanie  takes 
out  of  her  pocket  a  little  letter,  and 
gives  it  to  the  girl,  who  at  sight  of  it 
kisses  the  superscription,  and  then,  in 
an  anguish  of  love,  and  joy,  and  grief, 
falls  on  the  neck  of  the  kind  woman, 
who    consoles    her    in    her    misery. 


Whose  writing  is  it  Charlotte  kisses  ? 
Can  you  guess  by  any  means  ?  Upon 
my  word,  Madame  Smolensk,  I  never 
recommend  ladies  to  take  daughters 
to  your  boarding-house.  And  I  like 
you  so  much,  I  would  not  tell  of  you, 
but  j'ou  know  the  house  is  shut  up 
this  many  a  long  day.  Oh  !  the  years 
slip  away  fugacious ;  and  the  grass 
has  grown  over  graves  ;  and  many 
and  many  joys  and  sorrows  have  been 
born  and  have  died  since  then  for 
Charlotte  and  Philip  :  but  that  grief 
aches  still  in  their  bosoms  at  times  ; 
and  that  sorrow  throbs  at  Charlotte's 
heart  again  whenever  she  looks  at  a 
little  yellow  letter  in  her  trinket-box  : 
and  she  says  to  her  children,  "  Papa 
wrote  that  to  me  before  we  were  mar- 
ried, my  dears."  There  are  scarcely 
half  a  dozen  words  in  the  little  let- 
ter, I  believe ;  and  two  of  them  are 
"  for  ever." 

I  could  draw  a  ground-plan  of  ma- 
dame's  house  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
if  I  liked,  for  has  not  Philip  shown 
me  the  place  and  described  it  to  me 
many  times  ?  In  front,  and  facing 
the  road  and  garden,  were  madame's 
room  and  the  salon ;  to  the  back  was 
the  salle-a-manger ;  and  a  stair  ran 
up  the  house  (where  the  dishes  used 
to  be  laid  during  dinner-time,  and 
where  Moira  and  Macgrigor  fingered 
the  meats  and  puddings).  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes's  rooms  were  on  the  first 
floor,  looking  on  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  into  the  garden-court  of  the  house 
below.  And  on  this  day,  as  the  din- 
ner was  necessarily  short  (owing  to 
unhappy  circumstances),  and  the  gen- 
tlemen were  left  alone  glumh'  drink- 
ing their  wine  or  grog,  and  Mrs. 
Baynes  had  gone  up  stairs  to  her  own 
apartment,  had  slapped  her  boys  and 
was  looking  out  of  window,  —  was  it 
not  provoking  that  of  all  dav-  in  the 
world  young  Hcly  should  riil  ■  nji  to 
the  house  on  his  capering  niinv ,  with 
his  flower  in  his  buttou-hoK%  with 
his  little  varnished  toe-tips  just  touch- 
ing his  stirrups,  and  after  performing 
various  caracolades  and  gambadoea 
in  the  garden,  kiss  his  yellow-kidded 


THE   ADVKNTUIIES    OF    PHILIP. 


289 


hand  to  Mrs.  General  Baynes  at  the 
window,  hope  Miss  Baynes  was  quite 
well,  and  ask  if  he  might  eome  in  and 
take  a  cup  of  tea  ?  Charlotte,  lying 
on  madame's  bed  in  the  ground-floor 
room,  heard  Mr.  Hely's  sweet  voice 
asking  after  her  health,  and  the 
crunching  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
gravel,  and  she  could  even  catch 
glimpses  of  that  little  form  as  the 
horse  capered  about  in  the  court, 
though  of  course  he  could  not  see  her 
where  she  was  lying  on  the  bed  with 
her  letter  in  her  hand.  Mrs.  Baynes 
at  her  window  had  to  wag  her  with- 
ered head  from  the  casement,  to  groan 
out,  "  My  daughter  is  lying  down, 
and  has  a  bad  headache,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,"  and  then  she  must  have  had 
the  mortification  to  see  Hely  caper 
off,  after  waving  her  a  genteel  adieu. 
The  ladies  in  the  front  salon,  who  as- 
sembled after  dinner,  witnessed  the 
transaction,  and  Mrs.  Bundi,  I  dare 
say,  had  a  grim  pleasure  at  seeing 
Eliza  Baynes's  young  sprig  of  fashion, 
of  whom  Eliza  was  ibrevcr  hrngging, 
come  at  last,  and  obliged  to  ride 
away,  not  bootless,  certainly,  for 
where  were  feet  more  beautifully 
chamses  ?   but  after  a  bootless  errand. 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  sat  awhile 
in  the  dining-room,  after  the  British 
ctistom  which  such  veterans  liked  too 
well  to  give  up.  Other  two  gentle- 
men l)oarders  went  away,  rather 
alarmed  by  that  storm  and  outl)rcak 
in  which  Charlotte  had  quitted  the 
dinner-table,  and  left  the  old  soldiers 
together,  to  enjoy,  according  to  their 
after-dinner  custom,  a  sober  glass  of 
"  sometliing  hot,"  as  the  saying  is. 
In  truth,  madame's  wine  was  of  the 
poorest ;  but  what  better  could  you 
expect  for  the  money  ? 

Baynes  was  not  eager  to  be  alone 
with  Bunch,  and  I  have  no  doubt  be- 
gan to  blush  again  when  he  found 
himself /e/c-«-<ete  with  his- old  friend. 
But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  The 
General  did  not  dare  to  go  up  stairs  to 
his  own  quarters,  where  poor  Char- 
lotte Avas  probably  crying,  and  her 
mother  in  one  of  her  tantrums. 
13 


Then  in  the  salon  there  were  the 
ladies  of  the  boarding-hou^;e  ])arty, 
and  there  Mrs.  Bunch  would  be  sure 
to  be  at  him.  Indeed,  since  the 
Baynes  were  launched  in  the  great 
world,  Mrs.  Bunch  was  untiringly 
sarcastic  in  her  remarks  about  lords, 
ladies,  attache's,  ambassadors,  and 
line  people  in  general.  80  Baynes 
sat  with  his  friend,  in  the  falling 
evening,  in  much  silence,  dip])ing  his 
old  nose  in  the  brandy-and-water. 

Little  S(|uare-faccd,  red-faced,  whis- 
ker-dyed Colonel  Bunch  sat  opposite 
his  old  conijianion,  regarding  him  not 
without  scorn.  Hunch  had  a  wife. 
Bunch  luid  i'celings.  Do  you  sup]  ose 
those  feelings  had  not  been  worked 
upon  by  tliat  wife  in  private  collo- 
quies 1  Do  you  su])]j0sc,  —  when  two 
old  women  have  livt  d  logctlier  in 
]iretly  much  the  same  rank  of  life,  — 
if  one  suddenly  gets  piomotion,  is 
carried  off  to  higher  s))hcres,  and  talks 
of  her  new  friends,  the  coutitcsses, 
duchesses,  anil)assadresses,  as  of 
course  she  v.ill,  —  do  you  .'■ujipose,  I 
say,  that  the  unsucccssfn!  woman  will 
he  pleased  at  th.e  succes.-ful  woman's 
success  1  Your  knoAvlcdj^c  of  your 
own  heart,  my  dear  lady,  must  tell 
you  the  truth  in  this  matter.  I  don't 
want  you  to  acknowledge  that  you 
are  angry  because  your  sister  has  licen 
staying  with  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbat- 
tleaxe,  but  you  are,  you  know.  You 
have  made  sneering  nnmrks  to  your 
husband  on  the  suliject,  and  such  re- 
marks, I  have  no  doul)t,  were  made 
by  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  to  lier  hus- 
band, regarding  her  p(jor  friend  Mrs. 
General  Baynes. 

During  this  parenthesis  we  have 
left  the  General  dijijnng  his  nose  in 
the  brandy-and-water.  lie  can't  keep 
it  there  forever.  He  must  come  up 
for  air  presently.  His  face  must  come 
out  of  the  drink,  and  sigh  over  the 
table. 

"  What  's  this  business.  Baynes  ?  " 
says  the  Colonel.  "  What  's  the 
matter  with  ])Oor  Charley  ?  " 

"  Family  affairs,  —  differences  will 
happen,"  says  the  General, 
s 


290 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


"  I  do  hope  and  trust  nothing  has 
gone  wrong  with  her  and  young  Fir- 
min,  Baynes  ?  " 

The  General  does  not  like  those 
fixed  eyes  staring  at  him  under  those 
bushy  eyebrows,  between  those  bushy, 
blackened  whiskers. 

"  Well,  then,  yes.  Bunch,  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong  ;  and  given  me 
and  —  and  Mrs.  Baynes  —  a  deuced 
deal  of  pain  too.  The  young  lellow 
has  acted  like  a  blackguard,  brawling 
and  fighting  at  an  ambassador's  ball, 
bringing  us  all  to  ridicule.  He 's  not 
a  gentleman ;  that  's  the  long  and 
short  of  it.  Bunch ;  and  so  let 's  ' 
cliange  the  subject." 

"  Why,  consider  the   provocation  ' 
he  had  ! "  cries  the  other,  disregard-  ' 
ing  entirely  his  friend's  prayer.     "  I  j 
heard  them  talking  about  the  business  ' 
at  Galignani's  this  very  day.     A  fel- 
low swears  at  Firmin  ;  runs  at  him  ;  ; 
brags  that  he  has  pitched  him  over ; 
and  is  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  : 
By    George !     I    think   Firmin  was  i 
quite  right.     Were  any  man  to  do  as 
much  to  me  or  you,  what  should  we  ! 
do,  even  at  our  age  1 "  j 

"  We  are  military  men.  I  said  I 
did  n't  wish  to  talk  aliout  the  subject. 
Bunch,"  says  the  General,  in  rather  a 
lofty  manner. 

"  You  mean  that  Tom  Bunch  has 
no  need  to  put  his  oar  in  V  j 

"  Precisely  so,"  says  the  other, 
eurtly.  I 

"  Mum's  the  word !  Let  us  talk  ' 
about  the  dukes  and  duchesses  at  the 
ball.  T/iat  's  more  in  your  line,  now," 
says  the  Colonel,  with  rather  a  sneer. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  duchesses 
and  dukes  7  What  do  you  know 
about  them,  oi"  what  the  deuce  do  I 
care  ?  "  asks  the  General. 

"  O,  they  are  tabooed  too  !  Hang 
it,  there  's  no  satisfying  you,"  growls 
the  Colonel. 

"  Look  here.  Bunch,"  the  General 
broke  out ;  "  I  must  speak,  since  you 
won't  leave  me  alone.  I  am  unhap- 
py. You  can  see  that  well  enough. 
For  two  or  three  nights  past  I  have 
had  no  rest.      This  engagement  of 


my  child  and  Mr.  Firmin  can't  come 
to  any  good.  You  see  what  he  is,  — 
an  overbearing,  ill-conditioned,  quar- 
relsome fellow.  What  chance  has 
Charlev  of  being  happy  with  such  a 
fellow  'i " 

I      "  I  hold  my  tongue,  Baynes.     You 
;  told  me  not  to  put  my  oar  in,"  growls 
the  Colonel. 

'•  O,  if  that  's  the  way  you  take  it, 
Bunch,  of  course  there  's  no  need  for 
me  to  go  on  any  more,"  cries  General 
Baynes.  "  If  an  old  friend  won'tgive 
an  old  friend  advice,  by  George,  or 
help  him  in  a  strait,  or  say  a  kind  word 
when  he  's  imhappy,  I  have  done.  I 
have  known  you  for  forty  years,  and 
I  am  mistaken  in  you,  —  that  's  all." 

"  There  's  no  contenting  you. 
You  say,  '  Hold  your  tongue,'  and  I 
shut  my  mouth.  I  hold  my  tongue, 
and  you  say, '  Why  don't  you  speak  ? ' 
Why  don't  I  ?  Because  you  won't  like 
what  I  say,  Clwrles  Baynes :  and  so 
what 's  the  good  of  more  talking  ?  " 

"  Confound  it !  "  cries  Baynes,  with 
a  thump  of  his  glass  on  the  table, 
"  but  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say,  then,  as  you  will  have  it," 
cries  the  other,  clenching  his  fists  in 
his  pockets,  —  "I  say  you  are  want- 
ing a  pretext  for  breaking  off  this 
match,  Baynes.  I  don't  say  it  is  a 
good  one,  mind ;  but  your  word  is 
passed,  and  your  honor  engaged  to  a 
young  fellow  to  whom  you  are  under 
deep  obligation." 

"  What  obligation  ?  Who  has 
talked  to  you  about  my  jirivate 
affiiirs  1  "  cries  the  General,  redden- 
ing. "  Has  Philip  Firmin  been  brag- 
ging about  his  —  ?  " 

"  You  have  yourself,  Baynes. 
When  you  arrived  here,  you  told  me 
over  and  over  again  what  the  young 
fellow  had  done :  and  you  certainly 
thought  he  acted  like  a  gentleman 
then.  If  you  choose  to  break  your 
word  to  him  now  —  " 

"  Break  my  word  !  Great  powers, 
do  vou  know  what  you  are  saying, 
Bunch  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  what  you  are  doing, 
Baynes." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


291 


"  Doing  ?  and  what  ?  " 

"  A  damned  shabby  action  ;  that 's 
what  you  are  doing,  if  you  want  to 
know.  Don't  tell  me.  Wh\',  do  you 
suppose  Sarah  —  do  you  snpixjsc  ev- 
erybody does  n't  see  what  you  are  at  ? 
You  think  you  can  get  a  better  matcli 
for  the  girl,  and  you  and  Eliza  arc 
going  to  throw  the  young  fellow  over : 
and  the  fellow  who  held  his  hand, 
and  might  have  ruined  you,  if  he 
liked.     I  say  it  is  a  cowardly  action  !  " 

"  Colonel  Bunch,  do  you  dare  to 
use  such  a  word  to  me  (  "  calls  out 
the  General,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Dare  be  hanged  !  I  say  it  's  a 
shabby  action ! "  roars  the  other, 
rising  too. 

"  Hush  1  unless  you  wish  to  disturb 
the  ladies !  Of  course  you  know 
what  your  expression  means,  Colonel 
Bunch  ?  "  and  the  General  drops  his 
voice  and  sinks  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  know  what  iny  words  mean, 
and  I  stick  to  'em,  Baynes,"  growls 
the  other ;  "  which  is  more  than  you 
can  say  of  yours." 

"  I  am  dee'd  if  any  man  alive  shall 
use  this  language  to  me,"  says  the 
General,  in  the  softest  whisper,  "  with- 
out accounting  to  me  for  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  find  me  backward, 
Baynes,  at  that  kind  of  thing  1 " 
growls  the  Colonel,  with  a  face  like  a 
lobster  and  eyes  starting  from  his 
head. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  To-morrow,  at 
your  earliest  convenience.  I  shall  be 
at  Galignani's  from  eleven  till  one. 
With  a  friend,  if  possible.  —  What  is 
it,  my  love  ?  A  game  at  whist  ?  Well, 
no,  thank  you  ;  I  think  I  won't  play 
cards  to-night." 

It  was  Mrs.  Baynes  who  entered  the 
room  when  the  two  gentlemen  were 
quarrelling ,-  and  the  bloodthirsty 
hypocrites  instantly  smoothed  their 
ruffled  brows  and  smiled  on  her  with 
perfect  courtesy. 

"  Whist,—  no  !  I  was  thinking 
should  we  send  out  to  meet  him  ?  He 
has  never  been  in  Paris." 

"  Never  been  in  Paris  1  "  said  the 
Cieneral,  puzzled. 


"  lie  will  be  here  to-night,  you 
know.  Madame  has  a  room  ready 
for  him." 

"  The  very  thing,  the  very  thing  !  " 
cries  General  Baynes,  with  great  glee. 
And  Mrs.  Baynes,  all  unsuspicious 
of  the  (juarrel  between  the  old  friends, 
proceeds  to  inform  C^olonel  Bunch  that 
Major  MacWhirter  was  expected  that 
evening.  And  then  that  tough  old 
Colonel  Bunch  knew  the  cause  of 
Baynes's  delight.  A  second  was  pro- 
vided for  the  General, —  the  very  thing 
Baynes  wanted. 

We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Baynes, 
after  taking  counsel  with  her  General, 
had  privately  sent  for  MacWhirter. 
Her  plan  was  that  Charlotte's  uncle 
should  take  her  for  a  while  to  Tours, 
and  make  her  hear  reason.  Then 
Charley's  foolish  passion  for  Philip 
woidd  i)ass  away.  Then,  if  he  dared 
to  follow  her  so  far,  her  aunt  and  un- 
cle, two  dragons  of  virtue  andcircum- 
spc<  tion,  would  watch  and  guard  her. 
Then,  if  Mrs.  Hely  was  still  of  the 
same  mind,  she  and  her  son  might 
easily  take  the  post  to  Tours,  where, 
Philip  being  absent,  young  Walsing- 
ham  might  plead  his  passion.  The 
best  part  of  tiie  plan,  perhaps,  was  the 
sepjiration  of  our  young  couple.  Char- 
lotte would  recover.  Mrs.  Baynes 
was  sure  tf  that.  The  little  girl  had 
made  no  outbreak  until  that  sudden 
insunx'ctitiU  at  dinner  which  we  have 
witnessed  ;  and  her  mother,  who  had 
domineered  over  the  child  all' her  life, 
thought  she  was  still  in  her  power. 
She  did  not  know  that  she  had  passed 
the  boundsof  authority,  and  that  with 
her  behavior  to  Philip  her  child's  al- 
legiance had  revolted. 

Bunch  then,  from  Baynes's  look 
and  expression,  perfectly  understood 
what  his  adversary  meant,  and  that 
the  General's  second  was  found.  His 
own  he  had  in  his  eye, —  a  tough  litile 
old  army  surgeon  of  Peninsular  and 
Indian  times,  who  lived  hard  by,  who 
would  aid  as  second  and  doctor  too, 
if  need  were, —  and  so  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone,  as  they  say.  The  Col- 
onel would  go  forth  that  very  instant 


292 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


and  seek  for  Dr.  Martin,  and  be  l 
hanged  to  Baynes,  and  a  plague  on  | 
the  whole  transaction  and  the  tolly  j 
of  two  old  friends  burning  powder  in  j 
such  a  quarrel.  But  he  knew  what  a  i 
blood-thirsty  little  fellow  that  hen- 
pecked, silent  Baynes  was  when  i 
roused ;  and  as  for  himself, —  a  fellow  | 
use  that  kind  of  language  to  me  ?  By  j 
George,  Tom  Bunch  was  not  going  I 
to  balk  him ! 

Whose  was  that  tall  figure  prowl- 
ing  about   madame's    house  in    the  | 
Champs  Elysees  when  Colonel  Bunch  1 
issued   forth  in  quest  of  his   friend  ;  i 
who  had  been  watched  by  the  police  ! 
and  mistaken  for  a  suspicious  charac-  | 
ter ;  who  had  been  looking  up  at  ma-  '■ 
dame's  windows  now  that  the  evening 
shades  had  fallen  ?    O  you  goose  of  a 
Philip  !  (for  of  course,  my  dears,  you 
guess  that  the  spy  was  P.  F.,.Esq.)  , 
you  look  up  at  the  premier,  and  there 
is  the  Beloved  in  madame's  room  on  ! 
the  ground  floor;  — in  yonder  room,  | 
where  a  lamp  is  burning  and  casting 
a  famt  light  across  the  bars  of  the  j 
jalousie.  If  Philip  knew  she  was  there  ' 
he  would  be  transformed  into  a  clem- 
atis, and   climb    up  the  bars  of  the 
window,  and   twine  round  them   all  , 
night.     But  you  see  he  thinks  she  is 
on  the  first  floor  ;  and  the  glances  of 
his  passionate  eyes  are  taking  aim  at 
the  wrong  windows.    And  now  Colo- 
nel Bunch  comes  forth  in  his    stout 
strutting   way.  in  his  little    military 
cape, —  quick  murch, —  and  Philip  is 
startled  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised, 
and  dodges  beliind  a  tree  in  the  ave- 
nue. 

The  Colonel  departed  on  his  murder- 
ous errand.  Philip  still  continues  to 
ogle  the  window  of  his  heart  (the 
wrong,  window),  defiant  of  the  police- 
man, who  tells  him  to  circulei:  He 
has  not  watched  here  many  minutes 
more,  ere  a  hackney-coach  drives  up 
with  portmanteaus  on  the  roof  and  a 
lady  and  gentleman  within. 

You  see  Mrs.  MacWhirter  thought 
she,  as  well  as  her  husband,  might 
have  a  pecj)  at  Paris.  As  Mac's  coach- 
hire  was  paid,  Mrs.  Mac  could  afford 


a  little  outlay  of  money.  And  if  theji 
were  to  bring  Charlotte  back, —  Cnar 
lotte  in  grief  and  agitation,  poor  child, 

—  a  matron,  an  aunt,  would  be  a 
much  fitter  companion  for  her  than 
a  major,  however  gentle.  So  the  pair 
of  Mac  Whirters  journeyed  from  Tours, 

—  a  long  journey  it  was  before  rail- 
ways were  invented, —  and  after  four- 
and-twenty  hours  of  squeeze  in  the 
diligence,  presented  themselves  at 
nightfall  at  Madame  Smolensk's. 

The  Baynes  bo\'S  dashed  into  the 
garden  at  the  sound  of  wheels. 
"  Mamma  —  mamma  !  it 's  Uncle 
Mac  !  "  these  innocents  cried,  as  they 
ran  to  the  railings.  "  Uncle  Mac ! 
what  could  bring  him  ?  Oh  !  they 
are  going  to  send  me  to  him!  they 
are  going  to  send  me  to  him ! "  thought 
Charlotte,  starting  on  her  bed.  And 
on  this,  I  dare  say,  a  certain  locket 
was  kissed  more  vehemently  than 
ever. 

"  I  say.  Ma  !  "  cries  the  ingenuous 
Moira,  jumping  back  to  the  house ; 
"  it 's  Uncle  Mac,  and  Aunt  Mac, 
too !  " 

"  What?  "cries  mamma,  with  any- 
thing but  pleasure  in  her  voice  ;  and 
then  turning  to  the  dining  -  room, 
where  her  husband  still  sat,  she  called 
out,  "  General  !  here  's  MacWhirter 
and  Emily ! " 

Mrs.  Baynes  gave  her  sister  a  very 
grim  kiss. 

"  Dearest  Eliza,  I  thought  it  was 
such  A  good  opportunity  of  coming, 
and  that  I  might  be  so  useful,  you 
know  !  "  pleads  Emily. 

"  Thank  you.  How  do  you  do, 
MacWhirter  ?  "  says  the  grim  Gene- 
rale. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes  my 
boy !  " 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Emily  ?  Boys, 
bring  your  uncle's  traps.  Did  n't 
know  Emily  was  coming,  Mac.  Hope 
there 's  room  for  her !  "  sighs  the 
General,  coming  forth  from  his  par- 
lor. 

The  Major  was  struck  by  the  sad 
looks  and  pallor  of  his  brother-in-law. 
"  By  George,   Baynes,  you  look  as 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


293 


yellow  as  a  guinea.  How  's  Tom 
Bunch "?  " 

"  Come  into  this  room  along  witli 
me.  Have  some  brandy-and-water, 
Mac.  Auguste  !  Odevie  0  slio  !  " 
calls  the  General ;  and  Auguste,  who 
out  of  the  new-comer's  six  packages 
has  daintily  taken  one  very  small 
mackintosh  cushion,  says  "  Com- 
ment ■?  encore  du  grog,  Ge'neral  ?  " 
and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  disap- 
pears to  procure  the  refreshment  at 
his  leisure. 

The  sisters  disappear  to  their  cm- 
braces  ;  the  brothers-in-law  retreat  to 
tlie  salle-a-manger,  where  General 
Baynes  has  been  sitting,  gloomy  and 
lonely,  for  half  an  hour  past,  think- 
ing of  his  quarrel  with  his  old  com- 
rade. Bunch.  He  and  Bunch  have 
been  chums  for  more  than  forty  years. 
They  have  been  in  action  together, 
and  honorably  mentioned  in  the  same 
report.  They  have  had  a  great  re- 
gard for  each  other  ;  and  each  knows 
the  other  is  an  obstinate  old  mule, 
and,  in  a  quarrel,  will  die  rather  than 
give  way.  They  have  had  a  dispute 
out  of  which  there  is  only  one  issue. 
Words  have  passed  which  no  man, 
however  old,  by  George !  can  brook 
from  any  friend,  however  intimate, 
by  Jove !  No  wonder  Baynes  is 
grave.  His  family  is  large ;  his 
means  are  small.  To-morrow  he  may 
be  under  fire  of  an  old  friend's  pistol. 
In  such  an  extremity  he  knows  how 
each  will  behave.  No  wonder,  I  say, 
the  Genei-al  is  solemn. 

"  What 's  in  the  wind  now, 
Baynes  ? "  asks  the  Major,  after  a 
little  drink  and  a  long  silence.  "  How 
is  poor  little  Char  ?  " 

"Infernally  ill  —  I  mean  behaved 
infernallv  ill,"  says  the  General,  bit- 
ing his  lips. 

"  Bad  business !  Bad  business  ! 
Poor  little  child  !  "  cries  the  Major. 

"  Ingubordinate  little  devil !  "  says 
the  pale  General,  grinding  his  teeth. 
"  We  '11  see  which  shall  be  master  !  " 

"  What !  you  have  had  words  ?  " 

"  At  this  table,  this  very  day.  She 
sat  here  and  defied  her  mother  and 


me,  by  George  !  and  flung  out  of  the 
room  like  a  tragedy  queen.  She  must 
be  tamed,  Mac,  or  my  name's  not 
Baynes." 

MacWhirter  knew  his  relative  of 
old,  and  that  this  quiet,  submissive 
man,  when  angry,  worked  up  to  a 
white  heat  as  it  were.  "  Sad  affair  ; 
hope  you  '11  both  come  round,  Bay- 
nes," sighs  the  Major,  trying  bootle'ss 
commonj)laces ;  and  seeing  this  last 
remark  liad  no  effect,  he  bethought 
him  of  recurring  to  their  mutual 
friend.  "  How  's  Tom  Bunch  '?  "  the 
Major  asked,  cheerily. 

At  this  question  Baynes  grinned  in 
such  a  ghastly  way  that  MacWhirter 
eyed  him  with  wonder.  ."Colonel 
Bunch  is  very  well,"  the  General 
said,  in  dismal  voice  ;  "  at  least,  he 
was  half  an  hour  ago.  He  was  sitting 
there  "  ;  and  he  pointed  to  an  empty 
spoon  lying  in  an  empty  beaker, 
whence  the  spirit-and-water  had  de- 
parted. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter, 
Baynes  ?  "  asked  the  Major.  "  Has 
anything  happened  between  you  and 
Tom  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  half  an  hour  ago. 
Colonel  Bunch  used  words  to  me 
which  I'll  bear  from  no  man  alive; 
and  you  have  arrived  just  in  the  nick 
of  time,  MacWhirter,  to  take  my 
message  to  him.  Hush  !  here 's  the 
drink." 

"  Voici,  Messieurs  !  "  Auguste  at 
length  has  brought  up  a  second  sup- 
ply of  brandy-and-water.  The  vete- 
rans mingled  their  jorums ;  and  whilst 
his  brother-in-law  spoke,  the  alarmed 
MacWhirter  sipped  occasionally  m- 
tentusque  ora  tenebut. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

I  CHARGE  YOU,  DROP  YOUR 
DAGGERS ! 

General  Baynes  began  the  story 
which  you  and  I  have  heard  at  length. 
He  told  it  in  his  own  way.  He  grew 
very  angry  with  himself  whilst  de- 


294 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


fending  himself.  He  had  to  abase 
Philip  very  fiercely,  in  order  to  ex- 
cuse his  own  act  of  treason.  He  had 
to  show  that  his  act  was  not  his  act ; 
that,  after  all  he  never  had  promised, 
and  that,  if  he  had  promised,  Philip's 
atrocious  conduct  ought  to  absolve 
him  from  any  previous  promise.  I 
do  not  wonder  that  the  General  was 
abusive,  and  out  of  temper.  Such  a 
crime  as  he  was  committing  can't  be 
performed  cheerfully  by  a  man  who  is 
habitually  gentle,  generous,  and  hon- 
est. I  do  not  say  that  men  cannot 
^cheat,  cannot  lie,  cannot  inflict  torture, 
cannot  commit  rascally  actions,  with- 
out in  the  least  losing  their  equanim- 
ity ;  but  these  are  men  habitually  false, 
knavish,  and  cruel.  They  are  accus- 
tomed to  break  their  promises,  to 
cheat  their  neighbors  in  bargains,  and 
what  not.  A  roguish  word  or  action 
more  or  less  is  of  little  matter  to 
them :  their  remorse  only  awakens 
after  detection,  and  they  don't  begin 
to  repent  till  they  come  sentenced  out 
of  the  dock.  But  here  was  an  ordi- 
narily just  man  withdrawing  from  his 
Kromise,  turning  his  back  on  his 
enefactor,  and  justifying  himself  to 
himself  by  maligning  the  man  whom 
be  injured.  It  is  not  an  uncommon 
event,  my  dearly  beloved  brethren  and 
esteemed  miserable  sister  sinners ; 
bat  you  like  to  say  a  preacher  is 
"  cynical "  who  admits  this  sad  truth, 
•—and,  perhaps,  don't  care  to  hear 
about  the  subject  on  more  than  one 
day  in  the  week. 

So,  in  order  to  make  out  some  sort 
of  case  for  himself,  our  poor  good  old 
General  Baynes  chose  to  think  and 
declare  that  Philip  was  so  violent, 
ill-conditioned,  and  abandoned  a  fel- 
low, that  no  faith  ought  to  be  kept 
with  him;  and  that  Colonel  Bunch 
had  behaved  with  such  brutal  inso- 
lence that  Baynes  must  call  him  to 
account.  As  for  the  fact  that  there 
was  another,  a  richer,  and  a  much 
more  eligible  suitor,  who  was  likely 
to  offer  for  his  daughter,  Baynes  did 
not  happen  to  touch  on  this  point  at 
all;  preferring  to  speak  of  Philip's 


I  hopeless  poverty,   disreputable   con- 
duct, and  gross  and  careless  behavior. 
Now  MacWhirter,  having,  I   sup. 
I  pose,  little  to  do  at  Tours,  had  read 
I  Mrs.    Baynes's   letters  to    her    sister 
■  Emily,  and  remembered  them.     In- 
I  deed,  it  was  but  very  few  months  since 
Eliza  Baynes's  letters  had  been  full 
I  of  praise  of  Philip,  of  his  love  for  Char- 
lotte, and  of  his  noble  generosity  ia 
I  foregoing  the  great  claim  which  he 
I  had  upon   the  General,  his  mother's 
careless  trustee.     Philip  was  the  first 
suitor  Charlotte  had  had  :  in  her  first 
;  glow  of  pleasure,  Charlotte's  mother 
I  had    covered    yards    of   paper    with 
I  compliments,  interjections,  and  those 
I  scratches  or  dashes  under  her  words,  by 
which  some  ladies  are  accustomed  to 
,  point   their  satire  or  emphasize  their 
delight.     He  was  an  admirable  young 
man,  —  wild,  but  generous,  handsome, 
:  noble !     He   had   forgiven  his  father 
thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds 
I  which  the  Doctor  owed  him,  —  all  his 
,  mother's  fortune ;  and  he  had  acted 
j  most  nobly  by  her  trustees,  —  that  she 
i  must  say,   though   poor  dear   weak 
j  Baynes  was  one  of  them !    Baynea 
j  who  was  as  simple  as  a  child.     Major 
Mac  and  his   wife   had   agreed   that 
;  Philip's  forbearance  was  very  gene- 
rous and  kind,  but  after  all  that  there 
!  was  no  special  cause  for  rapture  at  the 
i  notion  of  their  niece  marrying  a  strug- 
j  gling  young  fellow  without  a  penny 
j  in  the  world  ;  and  they  had  been  not 
I  a  little  amused  with   the  change  of 
tone  in  Eliza's  later  letters,  "when  she 
I  began  to  go  out  in  the  great  world, 
and  to  look  coldly  upon  poor,  penni- 
less Firmin,  her  hero  of  a  few  months 
since.     Then  Emily  remcml>ered  how 
Eliza  had  always  been  fond  of  great 
people  ;  how  her  head  was   turned  by 
going  to  a  few  parties  at  Government 
House ;  how   absurdly   she  went   on 
with  that   little   creature  Fitzrickets 
(because  he  was  an   Honorable,  for- 
sooth)   at   Dumdum.      Eliza  'was  a 
good  wife  to  Baynes ;  a  good  mother 
to  the  children  ;  and  made  both  ends 
j  of  a  narrow  income  meet  with  surpris- 
I  ing  dexterity ;  but  Emily  was  bouad 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


295 


to  say  of  her  sister  Eliza,  that  a  more, 
&c.,  &c.,  &c.  And  when  the  news 
came  at  lenjjth  that  Philip  was  to  he 
thrown  overboard,  Emily  clnpped  her 
hands  tojzether,  and  said  to  her  hus- 
band, "  Now,  Mac,  did  n't  I  always 
tell  you  so  1  If"  she  could  ^ct  a  fash- 
ionable husband  for  Charlotte,  I  hiciv 
my  sister  would  put  the  Doctor's  son 
to  the  door ! "  That  the  poor  child 
would  suffer  considerably,  her  aunt 
was  assured.  Indeed,  before  her  own 
union  with  Mac,  Emily  had  under- 
gone heart-breakings  and  pangs  of  sep- 
aration on  her  own  account.  The 
poor  child  would  want  comfort  and 
companionship.  She  would  go  to 
fetch  her  niece.  And  though  the  Ma- 
jor said,  "  My  dear,  you  want  to  go  to 
Paris,  and  buy  a  new  bonnet,"  Mrs. 
MacWhirter  spurned  the  insinuation, 
and  came  to  Paris  Irom  a  mere  sense 
of  duty. 

So  Baynes  poured  out  his  history  of 
wrongs  to  his  brother-in-law,  who 
marvelled  to  hear  a  man,  ordinarily 
chary  of  words  and  cool  of  demeanor, 
so  angry  and  so  voluble.  If  he  bad 
done  a  bad  action,  at  least,  after  do- 
ing it,  Baynes  had  the  grace  to  be 
very  much  out  of  humor.  If  I  ever, 
for  my  part,  do  anything  wrong  in 
my  family,  or  to  them,  I  accompany 
that  action  with  a  furious  rage  and 
blustering  passion.  I  won't  have  wife 
or  children  question  it.  No  querulous 
Nathan  of  a  family  friend  (or  an 
incommodious  conscience,  maybe,) 
shall  come  and  lecture  me  about  my 
ill  doings.  No  —  no.  Out  of  the 
house  with  him  !  Away,  you  preach- 
ing bugbear,  don't  try  to  frighten  me  ! 
Baynes,  I  suspect,  to  browbeat,  bully, 
and  outtalk  the  Nathan  pleading  m 
his  heart,  —  Baynes  will  outbawl  that 
prating  monitor,  and  thrust  that  in- 
convenient preacher  out  of  sight,  out 
of  hearing,  drive  him  with  angry 
words  from  our  gate.  Ah !  in  vain 
we  expel  him ;  and  bid  John  say,  not 
at  home  !  There  he  is  when  we  wake, 
sitting  at  our  bed-foot.  We  throw 
him  overboard  for  daring  to  put 
an  oar  in  our  boat.    Whose  ghastly 


;  head  is  th.-it  looking  up  from  the  wa- 
ter and  swimming  alongside  us,  row 
we  never   so   swiftly  ?     Fire  at  him. 
Brain  him  with  an  oar,  one  of  jou, 
and  pull  on  !     Flash  goes  the  pistol. 
Surely  that  oar  has  stove  the  old  skull 
I  in '(     Sec  !  there    comes     the    awful 
com]);inion  popping  up   out  of  wa- 
ter again,  and   crying,  "  Bemember, 
:  remember,  I  am   here,  I    am  here !  " 
j  Baynes  had   thought   to   bully  away 
1  one  monitor  by  the  threat  of  a'  ])istol, 
j  and     here    was    another    swimming 
j  alongside  of  his   boat.     And   would 
j  you  have  it  otherwise,  my  dear  reader, 
I  for   you,  for  me  ?     That  you   and  I 
I  shall  commit  sins,  in  this,  and  ensii- 
1  ing  years,    is  certain;  but  I  hope  — 
;  I  hope  they  won't  be  past  praying  for. 
Here  is  Baynes,  having  just  done  a 
bad  action,  in   a  dreadfully   wicked, 
murderous,  and  dissatisfied  state  of 
mind.     His  chafing,  bleeding  temper 
is  one  raw ;  his  whole  soul  one  rage, 
and  wrath,  and  fever.  Charles  Baynes, 
thou  old  sinner,  I  pray  that  Heaven 
may  turn  thee  to  a  better  state  of 
mind.     I  will  kneel  down  by  thy  side, 
scatter  ashes  on  my  own  bald  pate, 
and  we  will  quaver  out   Peccavimus 
together. 

"  In  one  word,  the  young  man's 
conduct  has  been  so  outrageous  and 
disreputable  that  I  can't,  Mac,  as  a 
father  of  a  family,  consent  to  my 
girl's  marrying  him.  Out  of  a  re- 
gard for  her  happiness,  it  is  my  duty 
to  break  off  the  engagement,"  cries 
the  General,  finishing  the  story. 

"  Has  he  formally  released  you 
from  that  trust  business  ?  "  asked  the 
Major. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Mac  !  "  cries  the 
General,  turning  very  red.  "  You 
know  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  wrong 
towards  him  as  you  are  !  " 

"  Innocent  —  only  you  did  not 
look  to  your  trust  —  " 

"  I  think  ill  of  him,  sir.  I  think 
he  is  a  wild,  reckless,  overbearing 
young  fellow,"  calls  out  the  General, 
very  quickly,  "  who  would  make  my 
child  miserable  ;  but  I  don't  think  he 
is  such  a  blackguard  as  to  come  down 


29G 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP. 


on  a  retired  elderly  man  with  a  poor 
family,  —  a  nnnierous  family  ;  a  man 
who  iias  l)led  and  foiij^lu  for  his  sov 
crcii,'n  in  the  Peninsuia,  and  in  India, 
as  the  '  Army  List '  will  show  you, 
hy  Geor^^e !  I  don't  think  Firmin 
will  Im;  such  a  scoundrel  as  to  come 
down  on  mc,  I  sav  ;  and  I  must  s.ay, 
Ml"  (Vairter,  I  think  it  most  uiihand- 
so:ne  of  you  to  allude  to  it,  —  most 
unhan  Isoiiie.  by  Georg;e  !  " 

'•  Wiiy,  you  are  going  to  break  off 
your  bir;;-  iin  with  him  ;  why  should 
he  keej)  his  compact  with  you  ?  "  asks 
the  gnitf  Major. 

"  Because,"  shouted-  the  Grcneral, 
"  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame  that 
an  old  man  with  seven  children,  and 
broken  health,  who  h.as  served  in 
every  phc;-, — yes,  in  the  West  and 
East  Indies,  by  George!  — in  Canada 
—  in  the  Peninsula,  and  at  New  Or- 
leans ; —  Ijecause  he  has  been  deceiv- 
ed and  humbugged  by  a  miserable 
scoundrel  of  a  doctor  into  signing  a 
sham  paper,  by  George !  should  be 
ruined,  and  his  poor  children  and 
wife  driven  to  beggary,  by  Jove !  as 
you  seem  to  recommend  young  Fir- 
min to  do,  Jack  MacWhirter ;  and 
I  '11  tell  you  what,  Major  MacWhir- 
ter, I  take  it  dee'd  unfriendly  of  you  ; 
and  I  '11  trouble  you  not  to  put  your 
oar  into  ;«-/  Jnat,  and  meddle  with  my 
affairs,  that 's  all,  and  I  '11  know  who 's 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  by  Jove  !  It 's 
the  gray  mare,  Mac,  —  it 's  your  bet- 
ter-half, MacWhirter  —  it's  that  con- 
founded, meddling,  sneaking,  backbit- 
ing, domineering  —  " 

"  What  next  ?  "  roared  the  Major. 
"  Hi,  ha,  hi !  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know,  Biynes,  who  has  put  you  on 
doing  what  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
calling  a  most  sneaking  and  rascally 
action,  —  yes,  a  rascally  action,  by 
George !  I  am  not  going  to  inmce 
matters !  Don't  come  your  Major- 
(ieneral  or  your  Mrs.  Major-General 
over  me  1  It 's  Eliza  that  has  set 
you  on.  And  if  Tom  Bunch  has 
been  telling  you  that  you  have  been 
hea'King  from  your  word  and  are  act- 
ing shabbily,  Tom  is  right ;  and  you 


may  get  somebod}'  else  to  go  out 
with  you.  General  Baynes,  for,  by 
George,  I  won't !  " 

"  Have  you  come  all  the  way  from 
Tours,  Mac,  in  order  to  insult  me  ?  " 
asks  the  General. 

"  I  came  to  do  you  a  friendly  turn, 
to  take  charge  of  your  poor  girl,  up- 
on whom  you  are  l)eing  very  hard, 
Baynes.  And  this  is  the  reward  I  tret ! 
Thank  you.  No  more  grog  !  AVhat 
I  have  had  is  rather  too  strom/  for  me 
already."  And  the  Major  looks  down 
with  an  expression  of  scorn  at  the 
emptied  beaker,  the  idle  spoon  before 
him. 

As  the  warriors  were  quarrelling 
over  their  cups,  there  came  to  them  a 
noise  as  of  brawling  and  of  female 
voices  without.  "  Mais,  madame  !  " 
pleads  Madame  Smolensk,  in  her 
grave  Way.  "  Taiscz-vous,  madame, 
laisscz  -  moi  tranquille,  s'il  voiis 
plait !  "  exclaims  the  well  -  known 
voice  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  which 
I  own  was  never  very  plea.sant  to  me, 
either  in  anger  or  good-humor. 
"  And  your  Little  —  who  tries  to 
sleep  in  my  chamber  !  "  again  pleads 
the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house. 
'■  Vous  n'avez  pa.s  droit  d'appeler 
Mademoiselle  Baynes  petite  !  "  calls 
out  the  General's  lady.  And  Baynes, 
who  wa.s  fighting  and  quarrelling 
himself  just  now,  trembled  when  he 
heard  her.  His  angry  face  assumed 
an  alarmed  expression.  He  looked 
for  means  of  escape.  He  appealed  for 
protection  to  MacWhirter,  whose 
nose  he  had  been  ready  to  pull  anon. 
Samson  was  a  mighty  man,  but  he 
Wiis  a  fool  in  the  hands  of  a  woman. 
Hercules  was  a  brave  man  and  a 
strong,  but  Omphale  twisted  him 
round  her  spindle.  Even  so  Baynes, 
who  had  foui;ht  in  India,  Spain, 
America,  trembled  before  the  partner 
of  his  bed  and  name. 

It  was  an  unlucky  afternoon. 
Whilst  the  husbands  had  been  quar- 
relling in  the  dining-room  over  bran- 
dy-and- water,  the  wives,  the  sisters, 
had  been  fighting  over  their  tea  in  the 
salon      I  don't  know  what  the  other 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


297 


boarders  were  about.  Philip  never 
told  me.  Perhaps  they  had  left  the 
room  to  give  the  sisters  a  free  opportu- 
nity for  embraces  and  confidential 
communication.  Perhaps  there  were 
no  lady  boarders  left.  Howbeit,  Em- 
ily and  Eliza  had  tea  ;  and  before  that 
refreshing  meal  was  conclnded,  those 
dear  women  were  fighting  ;us  hard  as 
tiieir  husbands  in  the  adjacent  cham- 
ber. 

Eliza,  in  the  first  place,  was  very 
angry  at  Emily's  coming  without  in- 
vitation. Emily,  on  her  part,  was 
angry  with  Eliza  for  being  angry. 
"  I  am  sure,  Eliza,"  said  the  spirited 
and  injuretl  MacWhirter,  "  that  is  the 
third  time  you  have  alluded  to  it  since 
we  have  been  here.  Had  you  and  all 
your  family  come  to  Tours,  Mac  and 
I  would  have  made  them  welcome,  — 
children  and  all ;  and  I  am  sure 
yours  make  trouble  enough  in  a 
house." 

"  A  private  house  is  not  like  a 
boarding-house,  Emily.  Here  ma- 
dame  makes  us  pay  frightfully  for  ex- 
tras," remarks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,  Eliza.  Let 
us  say  no  nu)re  about  it.  I  can't  go 
away  to-night,"  says  the  other. 

"  Arid  most  unkind  it  is  that  speech 
to  make,  Emily.    Any  more  tea  1 " 

"  Most  unpleasant  to  have  to  make 
that  speech,  Eliza.  To  travel  a 
whole  day  and  night,  —  and  I  never 
able  to  sleep  in  a  diligence,  —  to  has- 
ten to  my  sister  because  I  thought  she 
was  in  trouble,  because  I  thought  a 
sister  might  comfort  her ;  and  to  l)e 
received  as  you  re — as  you  — O,  O, 
O  —  boh  !  How  stoopid  I  am  !  " 
A  handkerchief  dries  the  tears :  a  smell- 
ing-bottle restores  a  little  comjiosure. 
"  When  you  came  to  us  at  Dumdum, 
with  two— o — o  children  in  the 
whooping-cough,  I  am  sure  Mac 
and  I  gave  you  a  very  different  wel- 
come." 

The  other  was  smitten  with  a  re- 
morse. She  remembered  her  sister's 
kindness  in  former  days.  "  I  did  not 
mean,  sister,  to  give  you  pain,"  she 
said.  "  But  I  am  very  unhappy  my- 
13* 


self,  Emily.  My  child's  conduct  is 
making  me  most  nnhapi)y." 

"  And  very  good  reason  you  have 
to  be  unhappy,  Eliza,  if  woman  ever 
had,"  says  the  otiier. 

"  0,  indeed,  yes  !  "  gasps  the  Gen- 
eral's lady. 

"  If  any  woman  ought  to  feel  re- 
morse, Eliza  Baynes,  I  am  sure  it 's 
you.  Sleepless  nights !  What  was 
mine  in  the  diligence,  compared  to 
the  nights  you  must  have  f  I  said  so 
to  myself  '  I  am  wretched,'  I  said, 
'  but  what  must  sfie  be  ? '  " 

"  Of  course,  as  a  feeling  mother,  I 
feel  that  poor  Charlotte  is  unhappy, 
my  dear." 

"  But  what  makes  her  so,  my 
dear  1  "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter,  who 
presently  showed  that  she  was  mis- 
tress of  the  whole  controversy.  "  No 
wonder  Charlotte  is  unhappy,  dear 
love !  Can  a  girl  be  engaged  to  a 
young  man,  a  most  interesting  young 
man,  a  clever,  accomplished,  highly 
educated  young  man  —  " 

"  What  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Have  n't  I  your  letters  ?  I  have 
them  all  in  my  desk.  They  arc  in 
that  hall  now.  Did  n't  you  tell  me 
so  over  and  over  again  ;  and  rave 
about  him,  till  I  thought  you  were  in 
love  with  him  yourself  almost  ?  "  cries 
Mrs.  Mac. 

"  A  most  indecent  observation  ! " 
cries  out  Eliza  Baynes,  in  her  deep, 
awful  voice.  "  Ko  woman,  no  sister, 
shall  say  that  to  me  !  " 

"  Shall  I  go  and  get  the  letters  ? 
It  used  to  be,  '  Dear  Philip  has  just 
left  us.  Dear  Philip  has  been  more 
than  a  son  to  me.  He  is  our  pre- 
server ! '  Did  n't  you  write  all  that 
over  and  over  again  ?  And  because 
you  have  found  a  richer  husband  for 
Charlotte,  you  are  going  to  turn  your 
preserver  out  of  doors  !  " 

"  Emily  MacWhirter,  am  I  to  sit 
here  and  be  accused  of  crimes,  uninvit- 
ed, mind, — uninvited,  mind,  by  my 
sister  ?  Is  a  general  officer's  lady  to 
be  treated  in  this  way  by  a  brevet- 
major's  wife?  Though  you  are  mj 
senior  in  age,  Emily,  I  am  yours  ia 


298 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


rank.  Out  of  any  room  in  England, 
but  this,  I  go  before  you !  And  if 
you  have  come  uninvited  all  the  way 
from  Tours  to  insult  me  in  my  own 
house  —  " 

'•  House,  indeed !  pretty  house ! 
Everybody  else's  house  as  well  as 
yours ! " 

"  Such  as  it  is,  I  never  asked  you 
to  come  into  it,  Emily  ! " 

"  0  yes !  You  wish  me  to  go  out 
in  the  night.     Mac  !  I  say  !  " 

"  family  !  "  cries  the  Generaless. 

"  ^Iac,  I  say !  "  screams  the  Major- 
ess,  flinging  open  the  door  of  the 
salon,  "  my  sister  wishes  me  to  go. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Au  nom  de  Dieu,  madame,  pen- 
sez  a  cette  pauvre  petite,  qui  souffre  a 
cote,"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
pointing  to  her  own  adjoining  cham- 
ber, in  which,  we  liave  said,  our  poor 
little  Charlotte  was  lying. 

"  Nappley  pas  Madamaselle  Baynes 
petite,  sivoplay ! "  booms  out  Mrs. 
Baynes's  contralto. 

"  MacWhirter,  I  say,  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  ! "  cries  Emily,  flinging  open 
the  door  of  the  dining-room  where 
the  two  gentlemen  were  knocking 
their  own  heads  together.  "  Mac- 
Whirter !  My  sister  chooses  to  in- 
sult me  and  say  that  a  brevet-major's 
wife  —  " 

"  By  George !  are  you  fighting, 
too  ?  "  asks  the  Greneral. 

"  Baynes,  Emily  MacWhirter  has 
insulted  me  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  a  settled 
thing  beforehand,"  yells  the  General. 
"  Major  MaeVV^hirter  has  done  the 
same  thing  by  mc  !  He  ha.s  forgotten 
that  he  is  a  gentleman,  r.nd  that  I  am." 

"  He  only  insults  you  because  he 
thinks  you  are  his  relative,  and  must 
bear  everything  from  him,"  says  the 
General's  wife. 

"  By  George !  I  will  not  bear 
everything  from  him  !  "  shouts  the 
General.  The  two  gentlemen  and 
their  two  wives  are  squabbling  in  the 
hall.     Madame  and  the  servants  are 

riering  up  from  the  kitchen-regions, 
dare  say  the  boys  fix>m  the  topmost 


banisters  are  saying  to  each  other, 
"  Row  between  Ma  and  Aunt  Mac  !  " 
I  dare  say  scared  little  Charlotte,  in 
her  temjwrary  apartment,  is,  for 
a  while,  almost  forgetful  of  her  own 
grief;  and  wondering  what  quaiTel  is 
agitating  her  aunt  and  mother,  her 
father  and  uncle  ?  Place  the  remain- 
ing male  and  female  boarders  about 
in  the  corridors  and  on  the  landings, 
in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  in- 
terest, of  satiric  commentary,  wrath 
at  being  disturbed  by  unseemly  do- 
mestic quarrel :  —  in  what  posture 
you  will.  As  for  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch,  she,  poor  thing,  does  not 
know  that  the  General  and  her  own 
Colonel  have  entered  on  a  mortal 
quarrel.  She  imagines  the  dispute  is 
only  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  her 
sister  as  yet ;  and  she  has  known  this 
pair  quarrelling  for  a  score  of  years 
past.  "  Toujours  corame  9a,  fighting 
vous  savez,  et  puis  make  it  up  again. 
Oui,"  she  explains  to  a  French  friend 
on  the  landing. 

In  the  very  midst  of  this  storm 
Colonel  Bunch  returns,  his  friend  and 
second.  Dr.  Martin,  on  his  arm.  He 
does  not  know  that  two  battles  have 
been  fought  since  his  own  combat. 
His,  we  will  say,  was  Ligny.  Then 
came  Quatre-Bras,  in  which  Baynes 
and  MacWhirter  were  engaged. 
Then  came  the  general  action  of 
Waterloo.  And  here  enters  Colonel 
Bunch,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
groat  engagements  which  have  taken 
place  since  his  temporary  retreat  in 
search  of  reinforcements. 

"  How  are  you,  MacWhirter  ?  " 
cries  the  Colonel  of  the  purple 
whiskers.  "  My  friend,  Dr.  Mar- 
tin !  "  And  as  he  addresses  himself 
to  the  General,  his  eyes  almost  start 
out  of  his  head,  as  if  they  would 
shoot  themselves  into  the  breast  of 
that  officer. 

"  My  dear,  hush !  Emily  Mac- 
Whirter, had  we  not  better  defer  this 
most  painful  dispute  ?  The  whole 
house  is  listening  to  us ! "  whispets 
the  General,  in  a  rapid  low  voice. 
"  Doctor  —  Colonel    Bunch  —  Major 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


299 


MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  go  i 
into  the  dining-room  ?  "  | 

The  General  and  the  Doctor  go 
first,  Major  MacWhirter  and  Colonel 
Bunch  pause  at  the  door.  Says 
Bunch  to  MacWhirter  :  "  Major,  you 
act  as  the  General's  friend  in  this 
affair  f  It 's  most  awkward,  but,  by 
George !  Baynes  has  said  things  to 
me  that  I  won't  bear,  were  he  my 
own  flesh  and  blood,  by  George ! 
And  I  know  him  a  deuced  deal  too 
well  to  think  he  will  ever  apologize  !  " 

"  He  has  said  things  to  me,  Bunch, 
that  I  won't  bear  from  fifty  brothcr- 
in-laws,  by  George !  "  growls  Mac- 
Whirter. 

"  What  1  Don't  you  bring  me  any 
message  from  him  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  Tom  Bunch,  I  want 
to  send  a  message  to  him.  invite  me 
to  his  house,  and  insult  me  and  Emily 
when  we  come  !  By  George,  it  makes 
my  blood  boil !  Insult  us  after  trav- 
elling twenty-four  hours  in  a  con- 
founded diligence,  and  say  we  're  not 
invited  !  He  and  his  little  catama- 
ran." 

"  Hush !  "  interposed  Bunch. 

"I  say  catamaran,  sir!  don't  tell 
me!  They  came  and  stayed  with  us 
four  months  at  Dumdum,  —  the  chil- 
«Jren  ill  with  the  pip,  or  some  con- 
founded thing,  —  went  to  Europe,  and 
left  me  to  pay  the  doctor's  bill ;  and 
now,  by  —  ' 

Was  the  Major  going  to  invoke 
George,  the  Cappadocian  champion, 
or  Olympian  Jove  1  At  this  moment 
a  door,  by  which  they  stood,  opens. 
You  may  remember  there  were  three 
doors,  all  on  that  landing ;  if  you 
doubt  me,  go  and  see  the  house 
(Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Ely  sees, 
Paris).  A  third  door  open.s,  and  a 
young  lady  comes  out,  looking  very 
pale  and  sad,  and  her  hair  hanging 
over  her  shoulders ;  —  her  hair, 
which  hung  in  rich  clusters  generally, 
but  I  suppose  tears  have  put  it  all 
out  of  curl. 

"  Is  it  you.  Uncle  Mac  f  I  thought 
I  knew  your  voice,  and  I  heard  Aunt 
Emily's,"  says  the  little  person. 


"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Charley,"  says  Uncle 
Mac.  And  he  looks  into  the  round 
face,  which  looks  so  wild  and  i.s  so 
full  of  grief  unutterable  that  Uncle 
Mac  is  quite  melted,  and  takes  the 
child  to  his  arms,  and  says,  "  What 
is  it,  my  dear  1 "  And  he  quite  for- 
gets that  he  proposes  to  blow  her 
father's  brains  out  in  the  morn- 
ing. "  How  hot  your  little  hands 
are ! " 

"  Uncle,  uncle ! "  she  says,  in  a 
swift  febrile  whisper,  "you  re  come 
to  take  me  away,  I  know.  I  heard 
you  and  papa,  1  heard  mamma  and 
Aunt  Emily  speaking  quite  loud  !  But 
if  I  go  —  I'll' —  I'll  never  love  any 
but  him  !  " 

"  But  whom,  dear  1  " 

"  But  Philip,  uncle." 

"By  George,  Char,  no  more  you 
shall !  "  says  the  Major.  And  here- 
with the  poor  child,  who  had  been  sit- 
ting up  on  her  bed  whilst  this  quar- 
relling of  sisters,  —  whilst  this  brawl- 
ing of  majors,  generals,  colonels,  — 
whilst  this  coming  of  hackney- 
coaches,  —  whilst  this  arrival  and  de- 
parture of  visitors  on  horseback,  — 
had  lieen  taking  place,  gave  a  fine 
hysterical  scream,  and  fell  into  her 
uncle's  arms  laughing  and  crying 
wildly. 

This  outcry,  of  course,  brought  the 
gentlemen  from  their  adjacent  room, 
and  the  ladies  from  theirs. 

"  What  are  you  making  a  fool 
of  yourself  about  ? "  growls  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  her  deepest  bark. 

"  By  George,  P^liza,  you  arc  too 
bad  !  "  says  the  General,  quite  white. 

"  Eliza,  you  are  a  brute ! "  cries 
Mrs.  MacWhirter. 

"  So  SHE  IS  ! "  shrieks  Mrs.  Bunch 
from  the  landing-place  overhead, 
where  other  lady- boarders  were  as- 
sembled looking  down  on  this  awful 
family  battle. 

Eliza  Baynes  knew  she  had  gone 
too  fan  Poor  Charley  was  scarco 
conscious  by  this  time,  and  wildly- 
screaming,  " Never,  never \"  .  •  .  . 
When,  as  I  live,  who  should  burst  in- 
to the  premises  but  a  young  man  with 


300 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


fair  hair,  with  flaming  whiskers,  with 
flaming  eyes,  who  calls  out,  "  What 
is  it  ?  I  am  here,  Charlotte,  Char- 
lotte ! " 

Who  is  that  young  man  ?  We  had 
a  glimpse  of  him,  prowling  about  the 
Champs  Elyse'es  just  now,  and  dodg- 
ing behind  a  tree  whea  Colonel  Bunch 
went  out  in  search  of  his  second. 
JThen  the  young  man  saw  the  Mac- 
Wiiirter  ha(  kney-coach  approach  the 
house.  Then  he  waited  and  waited, 
looking  to  that  upper  window  behind 
which  we  know  his  beloved  was  not 
reposing.  Then  he  beheld  Bunch  and 
Doctor  Martin  arrive.  Then  he 
passcil  through  the  wicket  into  the 
garden,  and  heard  Mrs.  Mac  and 
Mrs.  Baynes  fighting.  Then  there 
came  from  the  passage  —  where,  you 
see,  this  battle  was  going  on  —  that 
ringing  dreadful  laugh  and  scream  of 
poor  l/harlotte ;  and  Philip  Eirmin 
burst  like  a  bombshell  into  the  midst 
of  the  hall  where  the  battle  was 
raging,  and  of  the  family  circle  who 
were  fighting  and  screaming. 

Here  is  a  picture  I  protest.     We 
have  —  first,  the  boarders  on  the  first 
landing,   whither,   too,    the    Baynes 
children  have  crept  in   their  night- 
gowns.    Secondly,  we  have  Auguste,  | 
Fran9oise  the  cook,  and  the  assistant  | 
coming  up  from  the  basement.     And,  j 
third,  we  have  Colonel  Bunch,  Doc- 1 
tor  Martin,  Major  MacWhirter,  with 
Charlotte  in  his  arms  ;  Madame,  Gen- 
eral B.,  Mrs.  Mac,  Mrs.  Greneral  B., 
all  in  the  passage,  when  our  friend 
the    boml)shell    bursts    in    amongst 
them. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Charlotte,  I  am 
here ! "  cries  Philip,  with  his  great 
Toice;  at  hearing  which,  little  Char 
gives  one  final  scream,  and,  at  the 
next  moment,  she  has  fainted  quite 
dead,  —  but  this  time  she  is  on 
Philip's   shoulder. 

"  You  brute,  how  dare  you  do 
this  1  "  asks  .Mrs.  Baynes,  glaring  at 
the  young  man. 

"  It  is  yo'i  who  have  done  it, 
Eliza  !  "  says  Aunt  Emily. 

"  And  so  she  has,  Mrs.  MacWhir- 


ter !  "  calls  out  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch, 
from  the  landing  above. 

And  Charles  Baynes  felt  he  had 
acted  like  a  traitor,  and  hung  down 
his  head.  He  had  encouraged  his 
daughter  to  give  her  heart  away,  and 
she  had  obeyed  him.  When  he  saw 
Philip  I  think  he  was  glad :  so  was 
the  Major,  though  Firmin,  to  be  sure, 
pushed  him  quite  roughly  up  against 
the  wall. 

"  Is  this  vulgar  scandal  to  go  on 
in  the  passage  before  the  whole 
houie  i  "  gasped  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Bunch  brought  me  here  to  pre- 
scribe for  this  young  lady,"  says  little 
Doctor  Martin,  in  a  very  courtly 
way.  "  Madame,  will  you  get  a  little 
sal-volatile  from  Anjubeau's  in  the 
Faubourg;  and  let  her  be  kept  very 
quiet ! " 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Philippe,  it  is 
enough  like  that ! "  cries  Madame, 
who  can't  repress  a  smile.  "  Come 
to  your  chamber,  dear  little !  " 

"  Madame !  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes, 
"  une  mere  —  " 

Madame  shrugs  her  shoulders. 
"  Une  mere,  une  belle  mere,  ma 
foi  !  "  she  says.  "  Come,  mademoi- 
selle !  " 

There  were  only  very  few  people  in 
the  boarding-house :  if  they  knew,  if 
they  saw,  what  happened,  how  can 
we  help  ourselves  ?  But  that  they 
had  all  been  sitting  over  a  powder- 
magazine,  which  might  have  blown 
up  and  destroyed  one,  two,  three,  five 
people,  even  Philip  did  not  know, 
until  afterwards,  when,  laughing. 
Major  MacWhirter  told  him  how  that 
meek  but  most  savage  Baynes  had 
first  challenged  Bunch,  had  then  chal- 
lenged his  brother-in-law,  and  how 
all  sorts  of  battle,  murder,  sudden 
death  might  have  ensued  had  the 
quarrel  not  come  to  an  end. 

Were  j'our  humble  servant  anxious 
to  harrow  his  reader's  feelings,  or 
display  his  own  graphical  powers, 
you  understand  that  I  never  would 
have  allowed  those  two  gallant  officers 
to  (|uarrel  and  threaten  each  other's 
very  noses,  without  having  the  insult 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP, 


301 


vriped  out  in  blood.  The  Bois  de 
Boulogne  is  hard  by  the  Avenue  de 
Valmy,  ^vith  plenty  of  cool  fighting- 
ground.  The  octroi  officers  never 
stop  gentlemen  going  out  at  tlie 
neighboring  barrier  upon  duelling 
business,  or  prevent  the  return  of  the 
slain  victim  in  the  hackney-coach 
when  the  dreadful  combat  is  over. 
From  my  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Baynos's 
character,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  she  would  have  encouraged 
her  husband  to  fight;  and,  the  Gen- 
eral down,  would  have  put  pistols 
into  the  hands  of  her  boys,  and  bid- 
den them  carry  on  the  vendetui;  but 
as  I  do  riot,  for  my  part,  love  to  see 
brethren  at  war,  or  Moses  and  Aaron 
tugging  white  handfuls  out  of  each 
other's  beards,  •  I  am  glad  there  is 
going  to  be  no  fight  between  the 
veterans,  and  that  cither's  stout  old 
breast  is  secure  from  the  fratricidal 
bullet. 

Major  MacWhirter  forgot  all  about 
bullets  and  battles  when  poor  little 
Charlotte  kissed  him,  and  was  not  in 
the  least  jealous  when  he  saw  the 
little  maiden  clinging  on  Philip's 
arm.  He  was  melted  at  the  sight  of 
that  grief  and  innocence,  when  Mrs. 
Baynes  still  continued  to  bark  out 
her  private  rage,  and  said  :  "  If  the 
General  won't  protect  me  from  insult, 
I  think  I  had  better  go." 

"  By  Jove,   I    think    you    had  !  " 
exclaimed     MacWhirter,     to     which 
remark     the    eyes    of     the     Doctor  | 
and  Colonel   Bunch  gleamed  an  ap-  j 
proval. 

"  Allons,  Monsieur  Philippe. 
Enough  like  that,  —  let  me  take  her 
to  bed  again,"  Madame  resumed. 
"  Come,  dear  miss  !  "  ' 

What  a  pity  that  the  bedroom  was 
but  a  yard  from  where  they  stood  ! 
Philip  felt  strong  enough  to  carry  his 
little  Charlotte  to  the  Tuileries. 
The  thick  brown  locks,  which  had 
fallen  over  his  shoulders,  are  lifted 
away.  The  little  wounded  heart 
that  had  laid  against  his  own  parts 
from  him  with  a  reviving  throb. 
Madame  and  her  mother  carry  away 


little  Charlotte.  The  door  of  the 
neighboring  chamber  closes  on  her. 
The  sad  little  vision  has  disappeared. 
The  men,  quarrelling  anon  in  the 
I  passage,  stand  there  silent. 

"  I  heard  her  voice  outside,"  said 
:  Philip,  after  a  little  pause  (with  love, 
with  grief,  with  excitement,  I  sup- 
])ose  his  head  was  in  a  whirl).  "  I 
heard  her  voice  outside,  and  1  could 
n't  help  coming  in." 
!  "  By  George,  I  should  think  not, 
young  fellow ! "  says  Major  Mac- 
Whirter, stoutly  shaking  the  young 
man  by  the  hand. 

[  "  Hush,  hush  !  "  whispers  the 
Doctor ;  "  she  must  be  kept  quite 
quiet.  She  has  had  quite  excite- 
ment enough  for  to-night.  There 
must  be  no  more  scenes,  my  young 
•  fellow." 

And  Philip  says,  when  in  this 
agony  of  grief  and  doubt  he  found  a 
friendly  hand  put  out  to  him,  he  him- 
self was  so  exceedingly  moved  that 
he  was  cominAled  to  fly  out  of  the 
company  of  the  old  men,  into  the 
night,  where  the  rain  was  pouring,  — 
the  gentle  rain. 

While  Philip,  without  Madame 
Smolensk's  premises,  is  saying  his 
tenderest  prayers,  offering  up  his 
tears,  heart-throbs,  and  most  passion- 
ate vows  of  love  for  little  Charlotte's 
benefit,  the  warriors  ass-embled  with- 
in once  more  retreat  to  a  colloquy  in 
the  salle-a-m anger ;  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  rainy  state  of  the  night, 
the  astonished  Auguste  has  to  bring 
a  third  supply  of  hot  water  for  the 
four  gentlemen  attending  the  con- 
gress. The  Colonel,  the  ]\Iajor,  the 
Doctor,  ranged  themselves  on  one 
side  the  table,  defended,  as  it  were, 
by  a  line  of  armed  tuniljlers,  flanked 
by  a  strong  brandy-bottle  and  a  stout 
earthwork,  from  an  embrasure  in 
which  scalding  water  could  be  dis- 
charged. Behind  these  fortifications 
the  veterans  awaited  their  enemj-, 
who,  after  marching  up  and  down 
the  room  for  a  while,  takes  position 
finally  in  their  front  and  i)repares  to 
attack.     The   General   remounts   his 


302 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


cheval  de  bataiUe,  but  cannot  bring  the 
animal  to  charge  as  fiercely  as  before. 
Charlotte's  white  apparition  has  come 
amongst  them,  and  flung  her  fair 
arms  between  the  men  of  war.  In 
vain  Baynes  tries  to  get  up  a  bluster, 
and  to  enforce  his  passion  with  by 
Georges,  by  Joves,  and  words  naugh- 
tier still.  'That  weak,  meek,  quiet, 
henpecked,  but  most  blood-thirsty  old 
General  found  himself  forming  his 
own  minority,  and  against  him  his  old 
comrade  Bunch,  whom  he  had  in- 
sulted and  nose-pulled ;  his  brother-in- 
law  MacWhirter,  whom  he  had  nose- 
pulled  and  insulted  ;  and  the  Doctor, 
who  had  been  called  in  as  the  friend 
of  the  former.  As  they  faced  him, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  each  of  those 
three  acquired  fresh  courage  from  his 
neighbor.  Each,  taking  his  aim, 
deliberately  poured  his  fire  into 
Baynes.  To  yield  to  such  odds,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  not  so  distaste- 
ful to  the  veteran  as  to  have  to  give 
up  his  sword  to  any  single  adversary. 
Before  he  would  own  himself  in  the 
wrong  to  any  individual,  he  would 
cat  that  individual's  ears  and  nose  : 
but  to  be  surrounded  by  three  ene- 
mies, and  strike  your  flag  before 
such  odds,  was  no  disgrace ;  and 
Baynes  could  take  the  circumbendi- 
bus way  of  apology  to  which  some 
proud  spirits  will  submit.  Tlius  he 
could  say  to  the  Doctor,  "  Well, 
Doctor,  perhaps  I  was  hasty  in  ac- 
cusing Bunch  of  employing  bad 
language  to  me.  A  bystander  can 
see  these  tilings  sometimes  when  a 
principal  is  too  angry ;  and  as  you 
go  against  me  —  well  —  there,  then, 
I  ask  Bunch's  pardon."  That  busi- 
ness over,  the  MacWhirter  reconcilia- 
tion was  very  speedily  brought  about. 
"Fact  was,  was  in  a  confounded  ill- 
temper,  —  very  much  disturl)ed  by 
events  of  the  day,  —  did  n't  mean 
anything  but  this,  that,  and  so  forth." 
If  this  old  chief  had  to  eat  humble- 
pie,  his  brave  adversaries  were  anx- 
ious that  he  should  goblile  up  his 
portion  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
turned  away  their  honest  old  heads  as 


he  swallowed  it.  One  of  the  party 
told  his  wife  of  the  quarrel  which  had 
arisen,  but  Baynes  never  did.  "I 
declare,  sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  "  had 
she  known  anything  about  the  quar- 
rel that  night,  Mrs.  Baynes  would 
have  made  her  husband  turn  out  of 
bed  at  midnight,  and  challenge  iiis 
old  friends  over  again  !  "  But  then 
there  was  no  love  between  Philip  and 
Mrs.  Baynes,  and  in  those  whom  he 
hates  he  is  accustomed  to  see  little 
good. 

Thus,  any  gentle  reader  who  ex- 
pected to  be  treated  to  an  account  of 
the  breakage  of  the  sixth  command- 
ment vnll  close  this  chapter  disap- 
pointed. Those  stout  old  rusty 
swords  which  were  fetched  off  their 
hooks  by  the  warriors,  their  owners, 
were  returned  undrawn  to  their  flan- 
nel cases.  Hands  were  shaken  after 
a  fashion,  —  at  least  no  blood  was 
shed.  But,  though  the  words  spoken 
between  the  old  boys  were  civil 
enough.  Bunch,  Baynes,  and  the 
Doctor  could  not  alter  their  opinion 
that  Philip  had  been  hardly  used, 
and  that  the  benefactor  of  his  family 
merited  a  better  treatment  from  Gen- 
eral Baynes. 

Meanwhile,  that  benefactor  strode 
home  through  the  rain  in  a  state  of 
perfect  rapture.  The  rain  refreshed 
him,  as  did  his  own  tears.  The  dear- 
est little  maiden  had  sunk  for  a  mo- 
ment on  his  heart,  and,  as  she  lay 
there,  a  thrill  of  hope  vibrated 
through  his  whole  frame.  Her  fa- 
ther's old  friends  had  held  out  a  hand 
to  him,  and  bid  him  not  despair. 
Blow  wind,  fall  autumn  rains !  In 
the  midnight,  under  the  gusty  trees, 
amidst  which  the  lamps  of  the  re'i^er- 
heres  are  tossing,  the  young  fellow 
strides  back  to  his  lodgings.  He  is 
poor  and  unhappy,  but  he  has  Hope 
along  with  him.  He  looks  at  a  cer- 
tain breast-button  of  his  old  coat  ere 
he  takes  it  off  to  sleep.  "  Her  cheek 
was  lying  there,"  he  thinks,  —  "just 
there."  My  poor  little  Charlotte! 
what  could  she  have  done  to  the 
breast-button  of  the  old  coat  1 


THE  ADVENTrRES   OF  PHILIP. 


803 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

IW    WHICH     MRS.    MACAVIIIRTER     HAS 
A    NEW    BONNET. 

Now  though  the  unhappy  Philip 
slept  quite  soundlj',  so  that  his  boots, 
those  tramp-worn  sentries,  remained 
en  /action  at  his  door  until  quite  a 
late  hour  next  morning  ;  and  though 
little  Charlotte,  after  a  prayer  or  two, 
sank  into  the  sweetest  and  most  re- 
freshing girlish  slumber,  Charlotte's 
father  and  mother  had  a  bad  niglit ; 
and,  for  my  part,  I  maintain  that 
they  did  not  deserve  a  good  one.  It 
was  very  well  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to  de- 
clare that  it  was  MacWhirter's  snor- 
ing which  kept  them  awake  ( Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Mac  being  lodged  in  the  bed- 
room over  their  relatives),  —  I  don't 
say  a  snoring  neighbor  is  pleasant, 
—  but  what  a  bedfellow  is  a  bad  con- 
science !  Under  Mrs.  Bayncs's  night- 
cap the  grim  eyes  lie  open  all  night ; 
on  Bayncs's  pillow  is  a  silent,  wake- 
ful head  that  hears  ihe  hours  toll. 
"A  plague  upon  the  young  man ! " 
thinks  the  female  bonnet  de  nuit; 
"  how  dare  he  come  in  and  disturb 
everything?  How  pale  Charlotte 
will  look  to-morrow  when  Mrs.  Hely 
calls  with  her  son  !  When  she  has 
been  crving  she  looks  hideous,  and 
her  eyelids  and  nose  are  quite  red. 
She  may  fly  out,  and  say  something 
wicked  and  absurd,  as  she  did  to-day. 
I  wish  I  had  never  seen  that  insolent 
young  man,  with  his  carroty  beard 
and  vulgar  blucher  boots !  If  my 
boys  were  grown  up,  he  should  not 
come  hectoring  alwut  the  house  as  he 
does ;  they  would  soon  find  a  way  of 
punishing  his  impudence ! "  Balked 
revenge  and  a  hungry  disappoint- 
ment, I  think,  are  keeping  that  old 
woman  awake;  and,  if  she  hears  the 
hours  tolling,  it  is  because  wicked 
thoughts  make  her  sleepless. 

As  for  Baynes,  I  believe  that  old 
man  is  awake  l)ecause  he  is  awake  to 
the  shabbiness  of  his  own  conduct. 
His  conscience  has  got  the  better  of 
him,  which  he  has  been  trying  to 
bully  out  of  doors.    Do  what  he  will, 


that  reflection  forces  itself  upon  hira. 
Mac,  Btmch,  and  the  Doctor  ail  saw 
the  thing  at  once,  and  went  dead 
against  him.  He  wanted  to  break 
his  word  to  a  young  fellow,  who, 
whatever  his  faults  might  be,  had 
acted  most  nobly  and  generously  by 
the  Baynes  family.  He  might  have 
been  ruined  but  for  Philip's  forbear- 
ance ;  and  showed  his  gratitude  by 
breaking  his  promise  to  the  young 
fellow.  He  was  a  henpecked  man,  — 
that  was  the  fact.  He  allowed  his 
wife  to  govern  him :  that  little  old 
plain,  cantankerous  woman  asleep 
yonder.  Asleep  was  she  ?  No.  He 
knew  she  was  n't.  Both  were  lying 
quite  still,  wide  awake,  pursuing  their 
dismal  thoughts.  Only  Charles  was 
owning  that  he  was  a  sinner,  whilst 
Eliza  his  wife,  in  a  rage  at  her  last 
defeat,  was  meditating  how  she  could 
continue  and  still  win  her  battle. 

Then  Baynes  reflects  how  persever- 
ing his  wife  is ;  how,  all  through  life, 
she  has  come  back  and  back  and  back 
to  her  point,  until  he  has  ended  by  an 
almost  utter  subjugation.  He  will  re- 
sist for  a  day :  she  will  fight  for  a 
year,  for  a  life.  If  once  she  hates 
people,  the  sentiment  always  remains 
with  her  fresh  and  lively.  Her  jeal- 
ousy never  dies ;  nor  her  desire  to 
rule.  What  a  life  she  will  lead  poor 
Charlotte  now  she  has  declared 
against  Philip!  The  poor  child  will 
be  subject  to  a  dreadful  tyrantiy  :  the 
father  knows  it.  As  soon  as  he 
leaves  the  house  on  his  daily  walks 
the  girl's  torture  will  begin.  Baynes 
knows  how  his  wife  can  torture  a 
woman.  As  she  groans  out  a  liollow 
cough  from  her  bed  in  the  midnight, 
the  guilty  man  lies  quite  mum  under 
his  own  counterpane.  If  she  fancies 
him  awake,  it  will  be  his  turn  to  re- 
ceive the  torture.  Ah,  Othello  inon 
ami !  when  you  look  round  at  mar- 
ried life,  and  know  what  you  know, 
don't  you  wonder  that  the  bolster  is 
not  used  a  great  deal  more  freely  on 
both  sides  ?  Horrible  cynicism  !  Yes, 
—  I  know.  These  propositions  .served 
raw  are  savage,  and  shock  your  sen- 


304 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


nihility  ;  cooked  with  a  little  piquant 
sauce,  they  are  welcome  at  quite  po- 
lite tables. 

"  Poor  child  !  Yes,  by  (Jeorge ! 
What  a  life  her  mother  will  lead 
her !  "  thinks  the  Greneral,  rolling  un- 
easy on  the  midnight  pillow.  "  No 
rest  for  her,  day  or  night,  until  she 
marries  the  man  of  her  mother's 
choosing.  And  she  has  a  delicate 
chust,  —  Martin  says  she  has ;  and 
she  wants  coaxing  and  soothing,  and 
])retty  coaxing  she  will  have  from 
ui.unma ! "  Then,  I  dare  say,  the 
just  rises  up  in  that  wakeful  old 
man's  uncomfortable  memory.  His 
little  Charlotte  is  a  child  again, 
laughing  on  his  knee,  and  playing 
with  his  accoutrements  as  he  comes 
home  from  parade.  He  remembers 
the  fever  which  she  had,  when  she 
would  take  medicine  from  no  other 
hand;  and  how,  though  silent  with 
her  mother,  with  him  she  would  never 
tire  of  prattling,  prattling.  Guilt- 
stricken  old  man !  are  those  tears 
trickling  down  thy  old  nose?  It  is 
midnight.  We  cannot  see.  When 
you  brought  her  to  the  river,  and 
parted  with  her  to  send  her  to  Eu- 
rope, how  the  little  maid  clung  to 
you,  and  cried,  "  Papa,  papa  !  " 
Staggering  up  the  steps  of  the  ghaut, 
how  you  wept  yourself,  —  yes,  wept 
tears  of  passionate,  tender  grief  at 
parting  with  the  darling  of  your  soul. 
And  now,  deliberately,  and  for  the 
sake  of  money,  you  stab  her  to  the 
heart,  and  i>reak  your  plighted  honor 
to  your  child.  "And  it  is  yonder 
cruel,  shrivelled,  bilious,  plain  old 
woman  who  makes  me  do  all  this, 
and  trample  on  my  darling,  and  tor- 
ture her !  "  he  thinks.  In  Zoffany's 
famous  picture  of  Garrick  and  Mrs. 
Pritchard  as  Macbeth  and  Lady  Mac- 
beth, Macbeth  stands  in  an  attitude 
hideously  contorted  and  constrained, 
while  Lady  Mac  is  firm  and  easy. 
Was  this  the  actor's  art,  or  the  poet's 
device?  Baynes  is  wretched,  then. 
He  is  wrung  with  remorse,  and 
shame,  and  pit\-.  Well,  I  am  glad  of 
it.     Old  man,  old  man !  how  darest 


thou  to  cause  that  child's  tender  littl* 
bosom  to  bleed  ?  How  bilious  he 
looks  the  next  morning !  I  declare,  | 
as  yellow  as  his  grim  old  wife.' 
When  Mrs.  General  B.  hears  the  chil- 
dren their  lessons,  how  she  will  scold 
them  !  It  is  ray  belief  she  will  bark 
through  the  morning  chapter,  and 
scarce  understand  a  word  of  its  mean- 
ing. As  for  Charlotte,  when  she  ap- 
pears with  red  eyes,  and  ever  so  little, 
color  in  her  round  cheek,  there  is  thatj 
in  her  look  and  demeanor  which] 
warns  her  mother  to  refrain  from  too 
familiar  abuse  or  scolding.  The  girl 
is  in  rebellion.  All  day  Char  was  in 
a  feverish  state,  her  eyes  flashing 
war.  There  was  a  song  which  Philip 
loved  in  those  days :  the  song  of 
Ruth.  Char  sat  down  to  the  piano, 
and  sang  it  with  a  strange  energy. 
"  Thy  people  shall  be  my  people  "  — • 
she  sang  with  all  her  heart  —  "  and 
thy  God  my  God  !  "  The  slave  had 
risen.  The  little  heart  was  in  arms 
and  mutiny.  The  mother  was  scared 
by  her  defiance. 

As  for  the  guilty  old  father :  pur- 
sued by  the  fiend  remorse,  he  fled  early 
from  his  house,  and  read  all  the  papers 
at  Galignani's  without  comprehending 
them.  Madly  regardless  of  expense, 
he  then  plunged  into  one  of  those 
luxurious  restaurants  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  you  get  soup,  three 
dishes,  a  sweet,  and  a  pint  of  delicious 
wine  for  two  frongs,  by  George !  But 
all  the  luxuries  there  presented  to  him 
could  not  drive  away  care,  or  create 
appetite.  Then  the  poor  old  wretch 
went  off",  and  saw  a  ballet  at  the 
Grand  Opera.  In  vain.  The  pink 
nymphs  had  not  the  slightest  fascina- 
tion for  him.  He  hardly  was  aware 
of  their  ogles,  bounds,  and  capers. 
He  saw  a  little  maid  with  round,  sad 
eyes  :  —  his  Iphigenia  whom  he  was 
stabbing.  He  took  more  brandy-and- 
water  at  cafes  on  his  way  home.  In 
vain,  in  vain,  I  tell  you  !  The  old 
wife  was  sitting  up  for  him,  scared  at 
the  unusual  absence  of  her  lord.  She 
dared  not  remonstrate  with  him  when 
he  returned.    His  face  was  pale.    Hia 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


305 


eyes  were  fierce  and  bloodsliot.  Wlien 
tlie  General  had  a  particular  look, 
Eliza  Baynes  cowered  in  silence.  Mac, 
the  two  sisters,  and,  1  think.  Colonel 
Bunch  (but  on  this  point  my  infor- 
mant, Philip,  cannot  be  sure),  were 
having  a  dreary  rubber  when  the 
General  came  in.  Mrs.  B.  knew  by 
the  General's  face  tliat  he  had  been 
having  recourse  to  alcoholic  stimulus. 
But  she  dared  not  speak.  A  tiger  in 
a  jungle  was  not  more  savage  than 
Baynes  sometimes.  "  Where  's 
Char  '{  "  he  asked  in  his  dreadful,  his 
Bluebeard  voice.  "  Char  was  gone 
.to  bed,"  said  Mamma,  sorting  her 
trumps.  "  Hm  !  Augoost,  Odevee, 
Osho  !  "  Did  Eliza  Baynes  interfere, 
tiiough  she  knew  he  had  had  enough  ? 
As  soon  interfere  with  a  tiger,  and 
tell  him  he  had  eaten  enough  Sepoy. 
After  Lady  Macbeth  had  induced  Mac 
to  go  through  that  business  with  Dun- 
can, depend  upon  it  she  was  very 
deferential  and  respectful  to  her  gen- 
eral. No  groans,  prayers,  remorses 
could  avail  to  bring  his  late  Majesty 
back  to  life  again.  As  for  you,  old 
man,  though  your  deed  is  done,  it  is 
not  past  recalling.  Though  you  have 
withdrawn  from  your  word  on  a  s^ordid 
money  pretext ;  made  two  hearts 
miserable,  stabbed  cruelly  that  one 
which  you  love  best  in  the  world  ; 
acted  with  wicked  ingratitude  towards 
a  young  man,  who  has  been  nobly 
forgiving  towards  you  and  yours ;  and 
are  sutFering  with  rage  and  remorse, 
as  }ou  own  your  crime  to  yourself ;  — 
your  deed  is  not  past  recalling  as  yet. 
Vou  may  soothe  that  anguish,  and 
dry  those  tears.  It  is  but  an  act  of 
resolution  on  your  part,  and  a  firm 
resumption  of  your  marital  authority. 
Mrs.  Baynes,  after  her  crime,  is  quite 
humble  and  gentle.  She  has  half 
murdered  her  child,  and  stretched 
Philip  on  an  infernal  rack  of  torture  ; 
but  she  is  quite  civil  to  everybody  at 
madame's  house.  Not  one  word  does 
she  say  respecting  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch's  outbreak  of  the  night  before. 
She  talks  to  sister  Emily  about  Paris, 
the  fashions,  and  Emily's  walks  on 


;  the  Boulevard  and  the  Palais  Royal 
with  her  ISIajor.  She  bestows  ghastly 
smiles  upon  sundry  lodgers  at  table. 
She  tiianks  Augoost  when  he  serves 
her  at  dinner,  —  and  says,  "  Ah,  ma- 
danii',  (pie  le  boof  est  bong  aujourdhui, 
rien  que  j'aime  eomme  le  potofou." 
0  you  old  hypocrite  !  But  you  know 
1,  tor  iny  part,  always  disliked  the  wc^- 

I  man,  and  said   her   good-humor  was 

!  more  detestable  than  her  anger.  You 
hypocrite!  I  say  again: — ay,  and 
avow  that  there  were  other  hypocrites 
at  the  table,  as  you  shall  presently 

[  hear. 

When  Baynes  got  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  unobserved,  as  he 
thought,  to  madame,  you  may  be  sure 
the  guilty  wretch  asked  her  how  his 
little  Charlotte  was.  Mrs.  Baynes 
trumped  her  partner's  best  heart  at 
that  moment,  but  pretended  to  ob- 
serve or  overhear  nothing.  "  She 
goes  better,  —  she  skejjs,"  Madame 
said.  "Mr.  the  Doctor  Martin  has 
commanded  her  a  calming  potion." 
And  what  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that 
somebody  had  taken  a  little  letter 
from  Charlotte,  and  actually  had 
given  fifteen  sous  to  a  Savoyard 
youth  to  convey  that  letter  to  some- 
body else^  What  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  that  ihe  party  to  whom  that  let- 
ter was  addressed  siraightway  wrote 
an  answer,  —  directed  to  Madame  de 
Smolensk,  of  course?  I  know  it  was 
very  wrong  ;  but  I  suspect  Philip's 
prescription  did  quite  as  much  good 
as  Doctor  Martin's,  and  don't  intend 
to  be  very  angry  with  madame  for 
consulting  the  unlicensed  practitioner. 
Don't  preach  to  me,  madam,  about 
morality,  and  dangerous  examples 
set  to  young  people.  Even  at  your 
present  mature  age,  and  with  your 
dear  daughters  around  you,  if  your 
ladyship  goes  to  hear  the  "  Barber  of 
Seville,"  on  which  side  arc  your 
sympathies, — on  Dr.  Bartolo's,  or 
Miss  Kosina's  ? 

Although,  then,  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
most  respectful  to  her  husband,  and 
by  many  grim  blandishments,  hum- 
ble appeals,  and  forced  humiliations. 


306 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


strove  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him, 
the  General  turned  a  dark,  lowering 
face  upon  the  partner  of  his  existence : 
her  dismal  smiles  were  no  longer 
pleasing  to  him :  he  returned  curt 
"  Oh's  !  "  and  "  Ah's  !  "  to  her  re- 
marks. "When  Mrs.  Hely  and  her 
son  and  her  daughter  drove  up  in 
their  family  coach  to  pay  yet  a  sec- 
ond visit  to  the  Baynes  family,  the 
General  flew  in  a  passion,  and  cried, 
"Bless  my  soul,  Eliza,  you  can't 
think  of  receiving  visitors,  with  our 
poor  child  sick  in  the  next  room  ? 
It 's  inhuman !  "  The  scared  wo- 
man ventured  on  no  remonstrances. 
She  was  so  frightened  that  she  did  not 
attempt  to  scold  the  younger  chil- 
dren. She  took  a  piece  of  work,  and 
sat  amongst  them,  furtively  weeping. 
Their  artless  queries  and  unseason- 
able laughter  stabbed  and  punished 
the  matron.  You  see  people  do 
wrong,  though  they  are  long  past  fifty 
years  of  age.  It  is  not  only  the  schol- 
ars, but  the  ushers,  and  the  head- 
master himself,  who  sometimes  de- 
serve a  chastisement.  I,  for  my  part, 
hope  to  remember  this  sweet  truth, 
tiiough  I  live  into  the  year  1900. 

To  those  other  ladies  boarding  at 
madame's  establishment,  to  Mrs. 
Mac  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch, 
though  they  had  declared  against 
him,  and  expressed  their  opinions  in 
the  frankest  way  on  the  night  of  the 
battle  royal,  the  General  was  provok- 
ingly  polite  and  amiable.  They  had 
said  but  twenty-four  hours  since,  that 
the  General  was  a  brute;  and  Lord 
Chesterfield  could  not  have  been  more 
polite  to  a  lovely  young  duchess  than 
was  Baynes  to  these  matrons  next 
day.  You  have  heard  how  Mrs.  Mac 
had  a  strong  desire  to  possess  a  new 
Paris  bonnet,  so  that  she  might  appear 
%vith  proper  lustre  among  the  ladies 
on  the  promenade  at  Tours  ?  Major 
and  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Bunch  talked 
of  going  to  the  Palais  Royal  (where 
MacWhirter  said  he  had  remarked 
some  uncommonly  neat  things,  by 
George !  at  the  corner  shop  under  the 
glass    gallery).      On    this,    Baynes 


started  up,  and  said  he  would  accom- 
pany his  friends,  adding,  "  You  know, 
Emily,  I  promised  you  a  hat  ever  so 
long  ago !  "  And  those  four  went 
away  together,  and  not  one  offer  did 
Baynes  make  to  his  wife  to  join  the 
party ;  though  her  best  bonnet,  poor 
thing,  was  a  dreadfully  old  perform- 
ance, with  moulting  feathers,  rum- 
f>led  ribbons,  tarnished  flowers,  and 
ace  bought  in  St.  Martin's  Alley 
months  and  months  before.  Emily, 
to  be  sure,  said  to  her  sister,  "  Eliza, 
won't  you  be  of  the  party  ?  Wo  can 
take  the  omnibus  at  the  corner,  which 
will  land  us  at  tlie  very  gate."  But 
as  Emily  gave  this  unlucky  invita- 
tion, the  General's  face  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  ill-will  so  savage  and  ter- 
rific, that  Eliza  Baynes  said,  "No, 
thank  you,  Emily  ;  Charlotte  is  still 
i  unwell  and  I  —  I  may  be  wanted  at 
I  home."  And  the  party  went  away 
without  Mrs.  Baynes  ;  and  they  were 
absent  I  don't  know  how  long :  and 
Emily  MacWhirter  came  back  to  the 
boarding-house  in  a  bonnet,  —  the 
sweetest  thing  you  ever  saw  !  — green 
pique  velvet,  with  a  ruche  full  of  rose- 
buds, and  a  bird  of  paradise  perched 
on  the  top,  pecking  at  a  bunch  of  the 
most  magnificent  grapes,  poppies, 
ears  of  com,  barley,  &c.,  all  indica- 
tive of  the  bounteous  autumn  season. 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  to  see  her 
sister  return  home  in  this  elegant 
bonnet ;  to  welcome  her ;  to  acqui- 
esce in  Emily's  remark  that  the  Gen- 
eral had  done  the  genteel  thing  ;  to 
hear  how  the  party  had  further  been 
to  Tortoni's  and  had  ices  ;  and  then 
to  go  up  stairs  to  her  own  room,  and 
look  at  her  own  battered,  blowzy  old 
chapeau,  with  its  limp  streamers, 
hanging  from  its  peg.  This  humilia- 
tion, I  say,  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  bear 
in  silence,  without  wincing,  and,  if 
possible,  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

In  consequence  of  circumstances 
before  indicated.  Miss  Charlotte  was 
pronounced  to  be  very  much  better 
when  her  papa  returned  from  his  Pa- 
lais Royal  trip.  He  found  her  seated 
on  madame's  sofa,  pale,  but  with  tba 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


307 


wonted  sweetness  in  her  smile.  He 
kissed  and  caressed  her  with  many 
tender  words.  I  dare  say  he  told  lier 
there  was  nothing  in  the  world  lie 
loved  so  much  as  his  Charlotte.  He 
would  never  willingly  do  anything-  to 
give  her  pain,  never !  She  had  been 
his  good  girl,  and  his  blessing,  all  his 
life !  Ah  !  that  is  a  prettier  little  pic- 
ture to  imagine  —  that  repentant 
man,  and  his  child  clinging  to  him  — 
than  the  tableau  overhead,  viz.  Mrs. 
Baynes  looking  at  her  old  bonnet. 
Not  one  word  %yas  said  about  Philip 
in  the  talk  between  Baynes  and  his 
daughter,  but  those  tender  paternal 
looks  and  care-^ses  carried  hope  into 
Cliarlotte's  heart ;  and  when  her  papa 
went  away  (she  said  afterwards  to  a 
female  friend),  "  I  got  up  and  followed 
him,  intending  to  show  him  Philip's 
letter.  But  at  the  door  I  saw  mamr 
ma  coming  down  the  stairs  ;  and  she 
looked  so  dreadful,  and  frightened 
me  so,  that  I  went  back."  There  arc 
some  mothers  I  have  heard  of,  who 
won't  allow  their  daughters  to  read 
the  works  of  this  humble  homilist, 
lest  they  should  imbibe  "  dangerous  " 
notions',  &c.,  &c.  My  good  ladies, 
give  them  "  Goody  Twoshoes,"  if  you 
like,  or  whatever  work,  combining  in- 
struction and  amusement,  you  think 
most  appropriate  to  their  juvenile  un- 
derstandings ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  be 
gentle  with  them.  I  never  saw  peo- 
ple on  better  terms  with  each  other, 
more  frank,  affectionate,  and  cordial, 
than  the  parents  and  the  grown-up 
young  folks  in  the  United  States. 
And  why  1  Because  the  children 
were  spoiled,  to  be  sure !  I  say  to 
you,  get  the  confidence  of  yours,  — 
before  the  day  comes  of  revolt  and  in- 
dependence, after  which  love  return- 
eth  not. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Baynes  went  in 
to  her  daughter,  who  had  been  sitting 
pretty  comfortably  kissing  her  father 
on  the  sofa  in  madame's  chamber,  all 
those  soft  tremulous  smiles  and  twink- 
ling dewdrops  of  compassion  and 
forgiveness  which  anon  had  come  to 
soothe  the  little  maid,  fled  from  cheek 


and  eyes.  They  began  to  flash  again 
with  their  febrile  brightness,  and  her 
heart  to  throb  with  dangerous  rapid- 
ity. "  How  are  you  now  ?  "  asks 
mamma  with  her  deep  voice.  "  I  am 
much  the  same,"  says  the  girl,  begin- 
ning to  tremble.  "  Leave  the  child ; 
you  agitate  her,  madam,"  cries  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  coming  in  after 
Mrs.  Baynes.  That  sad,  humiliated, 
deserted  mother  goes  out  from  her 
daughter's  presence,  hanging  her 
head.  She  put  on  the  poor  old  bon- 
net, and  had  a  walk  that  evening  on 
the  Champs  Elysees  with  her  little 
ones,  and  showed  them  Guignol :  she 
gave  a  penny  to  Guignol's  man.  It 
is  my  belief  that  she  saw  no  more  of 
the  performance  than  her  husband 
had  seen  of  the  ballet  the  night  previ- 
ous, when  Taglioni,  and  Noblet,  and 
Duvcrnay,  danced  before  his  hot  eyes. 
But  then,  you  see,  the  hot  eyes  had 
been  washed  with  a  refreshing  water 
since,  which  enabled  them  to  view  the 
world  much  more  cheerfully  and 
brightly.  Ah,  gracious  Heaven  gives 
us  eyes  to  see  our  own  wrong,  how- 
ever dim  age  may  make  them  ;  and 
knees  not  too  stiff  to  kneel  in  spite  of 
years,  cramp,  and  rheumatism  !  That 
stricken  old  woman,  then,  treated  her 
children  to  the  trivial  comedy  of  Guig- 
nol. She  did  not  cry  out  when  the 
two  boys  climbed  up  the  trees  of  the 
Elysian  Fields,  though  the  guardians 
baSe  them  descend.  She  bought  pink 
sticks  of  barley-sugar  for  the  young 
ones.  Withdrawing  the  glistening 
sweetmeats  from  their  lips,  they  point- 
ed to  Mrs.  Hely's  splendid  barouche 
as  it  rolled  citywards  from  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  The  gray  shades  were 
falling,  and  Auguste  was  in  the  act  of 
ringing  the  first  dinner-bell  at  Ma- 
dame Smolensk's  establishment,  when 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  returned  to  her 
lodgings. 

Meanwhile  Aunt  MacWhirter  had 
been  to  pay  a  visit  to  little  Miss  Char- 
lotte, in  the  new  bonnet  which  the 
General,  Charlotte's  papa,  had  bought 
for  her.  This  elegant  article  had  fur- 
nished a  subject  of  pleasing  conversa- 


308 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


tion  between  niece  and  aunt,  who  held 
each  other  in  very  kindly  regard,  and 
all  the  details  of  the  bonnet,  the  blue 
flowers,  scarlet  flowere,  grapes,  sheaves 
of  corn,  lace,  &c.,  were  examined  and 
admired  in  detail.  Charlotte  remem- 
bered the  dowdy  old  English  thing 
which  Aunt  Mac  wore  when  she  went 
out?  Charlotte  did  remember  the 
bonnet,  and  laughed  when  Mrs.  Mac 
described  how  papa,  in  the  hackney- 
coach  on  their  return  home,  insisted 
upon  taking  the  old  wretch  of  a  bon- 
net, and  flinging  it  out  of  the  coach 
window  into  the  road,  where  an  old 
chiffonnier,  passing,  picked  it  up  with 
his  iron  hook,  put  it  on  his  own  head, 
and  walked  away  grinning.  I  declare, 
at  the  recital  of  this  narrative,  Char- 
lotte laughed  as  pleasantly  and  happily 
as  in  former  days;  and  no  doubt, 
there  were  more  kisses  between  this 
poor  little  maid  and  her  aunt. 

Now,  you  will  remark,  that  the 
Greneral  and  his  party,  though  they 
returned  from  the  Palais  Royal  in  a 
hackney-coach,  went  thither  on  foot, 
two  and  two,  —  viz.  Major  MacWhir- 
ter  leading,  and  giving  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Bunch  (who,  I  promise  you, 
knew  the  shops  in  the  Palais  Royal 
well),  and  the  General  following  at 
some  distance,  with  his  sister-in-law 
for  a  partner. 

In  that  walk  a  conversation  very 
important  to  Charlotte's  interests 
took  place  between  her  aunt  and  her 
father. 

"  Ah,  Baynes !  this  is  a  sad  busi- 
ness about  dearest  Char,"  Mrs.  Mac 
broke  out  with  a  sigh. 

"It  is,  indeed,  Emily,"  says  the 
General,  with  a  very  sad  groan  on 
his  part. 

"It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you, 
Baynes ;  it  goes  to  Mac's  heart.  We 
talked  about  it  ever  so  late  last  niglit. 
You  were  suffering  dreadfully;  and 
all  the  brandy-pawnee  in  the  world 
won't  cure  you,  Charles." 

"  No,  faith,"  says  the  General,  with 
a  dismal  screw  of  the  mouth.  "  You 
see,  Emily,  to  see  that  child  suffer 
tsars  my  heart  out,  —  by  Greorge,  it 


does.  She  has  been  the  best  child, 
and  the  most  gentle,  and  the  merriest, 
and  the  mo.-^t  obedient,  and  I  never 
had  a  word  of  fault  to  find  with  her; 
and  —  poo-ooh  !  "  Here  the  General's 
eyes,  which  have  been  winking  with 
extreme  rapidity,  give  way;  and 
at  the  signal  j)ooh !  there  issue  ou( 
from  them  two  streams  of  that  eye. 
waier  which  we  have  said  is  some^ 
times  so  good  for  the  sight. 

"  My  dear  kind  Charles,  yon  wem 
always  a  good  creature,"  says  Emily, 
patting  the  arm  on  which  hers  rests. 
xMeauwhile  Major-Gcneral  Baynes, 
C.  B.,  puts  his  bamboo  cane  undet 
his  disengaged  arm,  extracts  from  hia 
hind  pocket  a  fine  large  yellow  ban. 
danna  pocket-handkerchief,  and  per- 
forms a  prodigious  loud  obligato,  — 
just  under  the  spray  of  the  Rond< 
point  fountain,  opposite  the  Bridge  of 
the  Invalides,  over  which  poor  Philip 
has  tramped  many  and  many  a  day 
and  night  to  see  his  little  maid. 

"  Have  a  care  with  your  cane,  then, 
old  imbecile !  "  cries  an  approaching 
foot-passenger,  whom  the  General 
meets  and  charges  with  his  iron 
ferule. 

"Mille  pardong,  mosoo;  je  vous 
demande  mille  pardong,"  says  the  old 
man,  quite  meekly. 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  Charles," 
the  lady  continues;  "and  my  little* 
Char  is  a  darling.  You  never  would 
have  done  this  of  your  own  accord. 
Mercy  !  And  see  what  it  was  coming 
to!  Mac  only  told  me  last  night. 
You  horrid,  blood  -  thirsty  creature ! 
Two  challenges,  —  and  dearest  Mac  as 
hot  as  pepper !  O  Charles  Baynes,  I 
tremble  when  I  think  of  the  "danger 
from  which  you  have  all  been  res- 
cued !  Suppose  you  brought  home  to 
Eliza,  —  suppose  dearest  Mac  brouglit 
home  to  me  killed  by  this  arm  on 
which  I  am  leaning.  O,  it  is  dread- 
ful, dreadful !  We  are  sinners  all, 
that  we  are,  Baynes !  " 

"  1  humbly  ask  pardon  for  having 
thought  of  a  great  crime.  I  ask  par- 
don,"  says  the  General,  very  pale  and 
solemn. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


309 


•'If  you  had  killed  dear  Mac, 
would  you  ever  have  had  rest  a;j:aiu, 
Charles  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  think  not.  I  should  not 
deserve  it,"  answers  the  contrite 
Baynes. 

"  You  have  a  good  heart.  It  was 
not  1/ou  who  did  this.  I  know  who  it 
was.  She  always  had  a  dreadful 
temper.  The  way  in  which  she  used 
to  torture  our  poor  dear  Louisa  who 
is  dead,  I  can  hardly  forgive  now, 
Baynes.  Poor  suflfering  angel !  Eliza 
was  at  her  bedside  nagging  and  tor- 
turing her  up  to  the  very  last  day. 
Did  you  ever  see  her  with  nurses  and 
servants  in  India  ?  Tlic  way  in  which 
she  treated  them  was  —  " 

"  Don't  say  any  more.  I  am  aware 
of  my  wife's  faults  of  temper.  Heaven 
knows  it  has  made  me  suffer  enough !  " 
says  the  General,  hanging  his  head 
down. 

"Why,  man,  —  do  you  intend  to 
give  way  to  her  altogether?  I  said 
to  Mac  last  night,  '  Mac,  does  he  in- 
tend to  give  way  to  her  altogether? 
The  "  Army  List "  does  n't  contain 
the  name  nf  a  braver  man  than 
Charles  Baynes,  and  is  my  sister 
Eliza  to  rule  him  entirely,  Mac  ! '  I 
said.  No,  if  you  stand  up  to  Eliza,  I 
know  from  experience  she  will  give 
way.  We  have  had  quarrels,  scores 
and  hundreds,  as  you  know,  Baynes." 

"Faith,  I  do,"  owns  the  General, 
with  a  sad  smile  on  his  countenance. 

"  And  sometimes  she  has  had  the 
best  and  sometimes  I  have  had  the 
best,  Baynes  !  But  I  never  yielded, 
as  you  do,  without  a  fight  for  my 
own.  No,  never,  Baynes  !  And  me 
and  Mac  are  shocked,  I  tell  you  fairly, 
when  we  see  the  way  in  which  you 
give  up  to  her '" 

"  Come,  come !  I  think  you  have 
told  me  often  enough  that  I  am  hen- 
pecked," says  the  General. 

"  And  you  give  up  not  yourself 
only,  Charlrs.  but  your  dear,  dear 
child, —  poor  iittlc  sufluring  love  !  " 

"The  young  man's  a  beggar!" 
cries  the  General,  biting  his  lips. 

"  What  were  you,  what  was  Mac 


and  me  when  we  married  1  Wo 
luuln't  much  beside  our  pay,  had 
we  !  we  rubbed  on  through  bad 
weather  and  good,  managing  as  best 
we  could,  loving  each  other,  God  be 
praised  !  And  here  we  are,  owing 
nobody  anything,  and  me  going  to 
have  a  new  bonnet !  "  and  she  tossed 
up  her  head,  and  gave  her  companion 
a  good  -  natured  look  through  her 
twinkling  eyes. 

I      "  Emily,  you  have  a  good  heart  ! 

1  that 's  the  truth,"  says  the  General. 
"And    you    have    a    good    heart, 
Cliarlcs,  as  sure  as  my  name  's  Mac- 
Whirter ;  and  I  want  you  to  act  up- 
on it,  and  I  propose  —  " 

j      "What?" 

i  "  Well,  I  propose  that  — "  But 
now  they  have  reached  the  Tuilcries 
garden  gates,  and  pass  through,  and 
continue    their  conversation   in    the 

I  midst  of  such  a  hubbub  that  we  can- 
not overhear  them.  They  cross  the 
garden,  and  so  make  their  way  into 

,  the  Palais  Koyal,  and  the  purchase  of 
the  bonnet  takes  place;  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  excitement  occasioned 
by  l/mt  event,  of  cjui  se,  all  discus- 
sion of  domestic  affairs  becomes  unin- 

I  teresting. 

;  But  the  gist  of  Baynes's  talk  with 
his  sister-in-law  may  be  divined  from 
the  conversation  which  presently  oc- 
curred between  Charlotte  and  her 
aunt.     Charlotte  did  not  come  in  to 

I  the  public  dinner.    She  was  too  weak 

I  for  that ;  and  "  un  hon  bouillon  "  and 

I  a  wing  of  fowl  were  served  to  her  in 

1  the  private  apartment,  where  she  had 
been  reclining  all  day.  At  dessert, 
however,  Mrs.  MacWhirter  took  a 
fine  bunch  of  grapes  and  a  plump 
rosy  peach  from  the  table,  and  carried 
them  to  the  little  maid,  and  their  in 
terview  may  be  described  with  suBl 
cient  accuracy,  though  it  passed  wilh- 

i  out  other  witnesses. 

From  the  outbreak  on  the  night  of 
quarrels,    Charlotte    knew    that    her 

'  aunt  was  her  friend.  The  glances  of 
Mrs.  MacWhirter's  eyes,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  her  bonny,  homely  face, 
told  her  sympathy  to  the  girl.    There 


310 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


•were  no  pallors  now,  no  angry  | 
glances,  no  heart-beating.  Miss  Char 
could  even  make  a  little  joke  when 
her  aunt  appeared,  and  sa)',  "  What 
beautiful  grapes  !  Why,  aunt,  you 
must  have  taken  them  out  of  the  new 
bonnet." 

"  You  should  have  had  the  bird  of 
paradise,  too,  dear,  only  I  see  you 
have  not  eaten  your  chicken.  She  is 
a  kind  woman,  Madame  Smolensk. 
I  like  her.  She  gives  very  nice  din- 
ners. I  can't  think  how  she  does  it 
for  the  money,  I  am  sure  !  "  j 

"  She  has  been  very,  very  kind  to 
me  ;    and  I   love   her  with   all   my  j 
heart ! "  cries  Charlotte. 

"  Poor  darling !     We  have  all  our 
trials,   and  yours   have    begun,   my  j 
love ! " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  aunt !  "  whimpers 
the  young  person  ;  upon  which  oscu- 
lation possibly  takes  place. 

"  My  dear !  when  your  papa  took 
mc  to  buy  the  bonnet,  we  had  a  long 
talk,  and  it  was  about  you." 

"  About  me,  aunt  1  "  warbles  Miss 
Charlotte. 

"  He  would  not  take  mamma  ;  he 
would  only  ^o  with  me,  alone.  I 
knew  he  wanted  to  say  something 
about  you  ;  and  what  do  you  think  it 
was  ?  My  dear,  you  have  been  very 
much  agitated  here.  You  and  your 
poor  mamma  are  likely  to  disagree 
for  some  time.  She  will  drag  you  to 
those  balls  and  fine  parties,  and  bring 
you  those  Jine  partners." 

"  0,  I  hate  them  !  "  cries  Charlotte. 
Poor  little  Walsingham  Hely,  what 
had  he  done  to  be  hated  ? 

"  Well.  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  of 
a  mother  to  her  own  daughter.  But 
you  know  mamma  has  a  xoay  with 
her.  She  expects  to  be  obeyed.  She 
will  give  you  no  peace.  She  will 
come  back  to  her  point  again  and 
again.  You  know  how  she  speaks 
of  some  one  —  a  certain  gentleman? 
If  ever  she  sees  him,  she  will  be  rude 
to  him.  Mamma  can  be  rude  at 
times,  —  that  I  must  say  of  my  own 
sister.  As  long  as  you  remain 
here  —  " 


"  0  aunt,  aunt !  Don't  take  me 
away,  don't  take  me  away  !  "  cries 
Charlotte. 

"  My  dearest,  are  you  afraid  of 
your  old  aunt,  and  your  uncle  Mac, 
who  is  so  kind,  and  has  always  loved 
you  ?  Major  MacWhirter  has  a  will 
of  his  own,  too,  though  of  course  I 
make  no  allusions.  We  know  how 
admirably  somebody  has  behaved  to 
your  family.  Somebody  who  has 
been  most  unc/ratefulli/  treated,  though 
of  course  I  make  no  allusions.  If  you  j 
have  given  away  your  heart  to  your  ' 
father's  greatest  benefactor,  do  you  sup- 
pose I  and  Uncle  Mac  will  quarrel 
with  you  f  When  Eliza  married  i 
Baynes  (your  father  was  a  penniless  j 
subaltern,  then,  my  dear,  —  and  my 
sister  was  certainly  neither  a  fortune 
nor  a  beauty)  didn't  she  go  dead 
against  the  wishes  of  our  father  ? 
Certainly  she  did  !  But  she  said  she 
was  of  age, —  that  she  was,  and  a 
great  deal  more,  too, —  and  she  would 
do  as  she  liked,  and  she  made  Baynes 
marry  her.  Why  should  you  be 
afraid  of  coming  to  us,  love  1  You 
are  nearer  somebody  here,  but  can 
you  see  him  ?  Your  mamma  will 
never  let  you  go  out,  but  she  will 
follow  you  like  a  shadow.  You  may 
write  to  him.  Don't  tell  w,  chihl. 
Haven't  I  been  young  myself;  and 
when  there  was  a  difficulty  between 
Mac  and  poor  papa,  did  n't  Mac  write 
to  me,  though  he  hates  letters,  poor 
dear,  and  certainly  is  a  stick  at  them  ? 
And,  though  we  were  forbidden,  had 
we  not  twenty  ways  of  telegraphing 
to  each  other  ?  Law !  your  poor 
dear  grandfather  was  in  such  a  rage 
with  me  once,  when  he  found  one, 
that  he  took  down  his  great  buggy- 
whip  to  me,  a  grown  girl !  " 

Charlotte,  who  has  plenty  of  hu. 
mor,  would  have  laughed  at  this  con- 
fession some  other  time,  but  now  she 
was  too  much  agitated  by  that  invita- 
tion to  quit  Paris,  which  her  aunt 
had  just  given  her.  Quit  Paris? 
Lose  the  chance  of  seeing  her  dearest 
friend,  her  protector  ?  If  he  was  not 
with  her,  was  he  not  near  her  1    Yes, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILir. 


311 


near  her  always  !     On  that  horrible  i 
night,  when  all  was  so  desperate,  did  | 
not  her  champion   burst  forward  to  \ 
her     rescue  1     O  the     dearest     and 
bravest !     O  the  tender  and  true  ! 

"  You  are  not  listening,  you  poor 
child  !  "  said  Aunt.Mac,  surveying  her 
niece  with  looks  of  kindness.  "  Now 
listen  to  me  once  more.  Whisper  !  " 
And  sitting  down  on  the  settee  by 
Charlotte's  side.  Aunt  Emily  first 
kissed  the  girl's  round  cheek,  and 
then  whispered  into  her  ear. 

Never,  I  declare,  was  medicine  so 
efiScacious,  or  rapid  of  effect,  as  that 
wondrous  distilment  which  Aunt 
Emily  poured  into  her  niece's  ear  ! 
"  O  you  goose ! "  she  began  by  say- 
ing, and  the  rest  of  the  charm  she 
whispered  into  that  pearly  little  pink 
shell  round  which  Miss  Charlotte's 
soft  brown  ringlets  clustered.  Such 
a  sweet  blush  rose  straightway  to  the 
cheek !  Such  sweet  lips  began  to 
cry  "  O  you  dear,  dear  aunt,"  and 
then  began  to  kiss  aunt's  kind  face, 
that,  I  declare,  if  I  knew  the  spell,  I 
would  like  to  pronounce  it  right  off, 
with  such  a  sweet  young  patient  to 
practise  on. 

"When  do  we  go  ?  To-morrow, 
aunt,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  O,  I  am  qiiite 
strong !  never  felt  so  well  in  my  life ' 
I  '11  go  and  pack  up  this  instant,"  cries 
the  young  person. 

"  Doucement !  Papa  knows  of  the 
plan.  Indeed,  it  was  he  who  pro- 
posed it." 

"  Dearest,  best  father !  "  ejaculates 
Miss   Charlotte. 

"  But  mamma  does  not ;  and  if 
you  show  yourself  very  eager,  Char- 
lotte, she  may  object,  you  know. 
Heaven  forbid  that  /  should  counsel 
dissimulation  to  a  child ;  bat  under 
the  circumstances,  my  love  —  At 
least  I  own  what  happened  between 
Mac  and  me.  Law !  7  did  n't  care  for 
papa's  buggy-whip  !  I  knew  it  would 
not  hurt ;  and  as  for  Baynes,  I  am 
sure  he  would  not  hurt  a  fly.  Never 
was  man  more  sorry  for  what  he 
has  done.  He  told  me  so  whilst  we 
walked  away  from  the  bonnet-shop, 


whilst  he  was  carrying  my  old  yellow. 
We  met  somebody  near  the  Bourse. 
How  sad  he  looked,  and  how  hand- 
some, too !  I  bowed  to  him,  and 
kissed  my  hand  to  him,  that  is,  the 
knot)  of  my  parasol.  Papti  could  n't 
shake  hands  with  him,  because  of  my 
bonnet,  you  know,  in  the  brown-pa- 
per bag.  He  has  a  grand  beard,  in- 
deed !  He  looked  like  a  wounded 
lion.  I  said  so  to  papa.  And  I  said, 
'  It  is  you  who  wound  him,  Charles 
Baynes  ! '  'I  know  that,'  papa  said. 
'  I  have  been  thinking  of  it.  I  can't 
sleep  at  night  for  thinking  about  it . 
and  it  makes  me  dee'd  unhappy.' 
You  know  what  papa  sometimes  says  ■? 
Dear  me !  You  should  have  heard 
them,  when  Eliza  and  I  joined  the 
army,  years  and  years  ago  !  " 

For  once,  Charlotte  Baynes  was 
happy  at  her  father's  being  unhappy. 
The  little  maiden's  heart  had  been 
wounded  to  think  that  her  father 
could  do  his  Charlotte  a  wrong.  Ah ! 
take  warning  by  him,  ye  graybeards ! 
And  however  old  and  toothless,  if 
you  have  done  wrong,  own  that  you 
have  done  so ;  and  sit  down  and  say 
grace,  and  mumble  your  humble-pie  ! 
The  General,  then,  did  not  shake 
hands  with  Philip ;  but  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  went  up  in  the  most  marked 
way,  and  gave  the  wounded  lion  his 
own  paw,  and  said,  "  Mr  Firmin, 
glad  to  see  you  !  If  ever  you  come  to 
Tours,  mind,  don't  forget  my  wife 
and  me.  Fine  day.  Little  patient 
much  better  !  Bon  courage,  as  they 
say  ! " 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bungle 
Philip  made  of  bis  correspondence 
with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  night ' 
Every  man  who  lives  by  his  pen,  if  by 
chance  he  looks  back  at  his  writings 
of  former  years,  lives  in  the  past 
again.  Our  griefs,  our  pleasures,  our 
youth,  our  sorrows,  our  dear,  dear 
friends,  resuscitate.  How  we  tingle 
with  shame  over  some  of  those  fine 
passages !  How  dreary  are  those 
disinterred  jokes!  It  was  Wednes- 
day night.  Philip  was  writing  ofi"at 
home,   in  his  inn,  one  of  his  grand 


312 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


tirades,  dated  "  Paris,  Thursday  "  — 
so  as  to  be  in  time,  you  understand, 
for  tlie  post  of  Saturday,  when  the 
little  waiter  comes  and  says,  wink- 
injr,  "  Again  that  lady,  Monsieur 
Philippe !  " 

"  What  lady  ?  "  asks  our  own  in- 
telligent correspondent. 

"That  old  lady  who  came  the 
other  day,  you  know." 

"  C'est  moi,  mon  ami ! "  cries 
Madame  Smolensk's  well  -  known 
grave  voice.  "  Here  is  a  letter,  d'- 
abord.  But  that  says  nothing.  It 
was  written  before  the  grand  nouvelle 
—  the  great  news  —  the  good  news  ! " 

"  What  good  news  ?  "  asks  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"  In  two  days  miss  goes  to  Tours 
with  her  aunt  and  uncle,  —  this  good 
Macvirterre.  They  have  taken  their 
places  by  the  diligence  of  Lafitte  and 
Caillard.  They  are  thy  friends. 
Papa  encourages  her  going.  Here  is 
their  card  of  visit.  Go  thou  also ; 
they  will  receive  thee  with  open  arms. 
What  hast  thou,  my  son  ?  " 

Philip  looked  dreailfully  sad.  An 
injured  and  unfortunate  gentleman  at 
New  York  had  drawn  upon  him,  and 
he  had  paid  away  everything  he  had 
but  four  francs,  and  he  was  living  on 
credit  until  his  next  remittance  ar- 
rived. 

"  Thou  hast  no  money !  I  have 
thought  of  it.  Behold  of  it !  Let 
him  wait  —  the  proprietor!"  And 
she  takes  out  a  bank-note,  which  she 
puts  in  the  young  man's  hand. 

"  Tiens,  il  I'embrasse  encor  c'te 
vieille ! "  says  the  little  knife-boy. 
"  J'aimerai  pas  9a,  moi,  par  examp !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN     THE      DEPARTMENTS     OF     SEINE, 
LOIRE,  AND  STYX     (INFERIEUK). 

Our  dear  friend  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
suffering  under  the  influence  of  one 
of  those  panics  which  sometimes 
seized  her,  and  during  which  she  re- 
mained her  husband's  most  obedient 


Eliza  and  vassal.  When  Baynes 
wore  a  certain  expression  of  counte- 
nance, we  have  said  that  his  wife 
knew  resistance  to  be  useless.  That 
expression  I  suppose  he  assumed, 
when  he  announced  Charlotte's  de- 
parture to  her  mother,  and  ordered 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  to  make  the 
necessary  preparations  for  the  girl. 
"  She  might  stay  some  time  with  her 
aunt,"  Baynes  stated.  "A  change 
of  air  would  do  the  child  a  great  deal 
of  good.  Let  everything  necessary  in 
the  shape  of  hats,  bonnets,  winter 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  be  got  ready." 
"  Was  Char,  then,  to  stay  away  so 
long?"  asked  Mrs.  B.  "  Slie  has 
been  so  happy  here  that  you  want  to 
keep  her,  and  fancy  she  can't  be  hap- 
py without  you !  "  I  can  fancy  the 
General  grimly  replying  to  the  jiart- 
ner  of  his  existence.  Hanging  down 
her  withered  head,  with  a  tear  may- 
hap trickling  down  her  cheek,  1  can 
fancy  the  old  woman  silently  depart- 
ing to  do  the  bidding  of  her  lord. 
She  selects  a  trunk  out  of  the  store  of 
Baynes's  baggage.  A  young  lady's 
trunk  was  a  trunk  in  those  days. 
Now  it  is  a  two  or  three  storied  edifice 
of  wood,  in  which  two  or  three  full- 
grown  bodies  of  young  ladies  (without 
crinoline)  might  be  packed.  I  saw  a 
little  old  countrywoman  at  the  Folke- 
stone station  last  year  with  her  travel- 
ling baggage  contained  in  a  bandbox 
tied  up  in  an  old  cotton  handkercliief 
hanging  on  her  arm  ;  and  she  surveyed 
Lady  Knightsbridge's  twenty-three 
black  trunks,  each  wellnigh  as  large 
as  her  Ladyship's  opera-box.  Before 
these  great  edifices  that  old  woman 
stood  wondering  dumbly.  That  old 
lady  and  I  had  lived  in  a  time  when 
crinoline  was  not ;  and  yet,  I  think, 
women  looked  even  prettier  in  tiiat 
time  than  they  do  now.  Well,  a 
trunk  and  a  bandbox  were  fetched 
out  of  the  baggage  heap  for  little 
Ciuirlotte,  and  I  dare  say  her  little 
brothers  jumped  and  danced  on  the 
box  with  much  energy  to  make  the 
lid  shut,  and  the  General  brought  out 
his  hammer  and  nails,  and  nailed  a 


THE  ADVKNTURKS   OF   PHILIP. 


313 


card  on  the  box  with  "  jMademoisclle 
Baynes  "  thLTCon  printed.  And  ni:im- 
nia  liad  to  look  on  and  witness  those 

f)reparations.  And  Walsingham  Hc- 
y  had  called ;  and  he  wonld  n't 
call  again,  she  knew ;  and  that  fair 
chance  for  the  establishment  of  her 
child  was  lost  by  the  obstinacy  of  her 
self-willed,  reckless  hnsband.  That 
woman  had  to  water  her  soup  with 
her  furtive  tears,  to  sit  of  nights  be- 
hind hearts  and  spades,  and  brood 
over  her  crushed  hopes.  If  I  contem- 
jdate  that  wretched  old  Niobe  much 
longer,  I  shall  begin  to  pity  her. 
Away,  softness !  Take  out  thy  ar- 
rows, the  poiboned,  the  barbed,  the 
rankling,  and  prod  me  the  old  crea- 
ture well,  god  of  the  silver  bow ! 
Eliza  Baynes  had  to  look  on,  then, 
and  sec  the  trunks  packed ;  to  see 
her  own  authority  over  her  own 
daughter  wrested  away  from  her  ;  to 
see  the  undutiful  gii'I  prepare  with 
perfect  delight  and  alacrity  to  go 
away,  without  feeling  a  pang  at  leav- 
ing a  mother  who  had  nursed  her 
through  adverse  illnesses,  who  had 
scolded  her  for  seventeen  years. 

The  General  accompanied  the 
party  to  the  diligence  office.  Little 
Char  was  very  pale  and  melancholy 
indeed  when  she  took  her  place  in 
the  coupe.  "  She  should  have  a 
corner :  she  had  been  ill,  and  ought 
to  have  a  corner,"  Uncle  Mac  said, 
and  cheerfully  consented  to  be  bodkin. 
Our  three  special  friends  are  seated. 
The  other  passengers  clamber  into 
their  places.  Away  goes  the  clatter- 
ing team,  as  the  General  waves  an 
adieu  to  his  friends.  "  Monstrous 
fine  horses  those  gray  Normans ; 
famous  breed,  indeed,"  he  remarks  to 
his  wife  on  his  return. 

"  Indeed,"  she  echoes.  "  Pray,  in 
what  part  of  the  carriage  was  Mr. 
rirmin  ?  "  she  presently  asks. 

"  In  no  part  of  the  caniage  at  all !  " 
Baynes  answers  fiercely,  turning  beet- 
root red.  And  thus,  though  she 
had  been  silent,  obedient,  hanging 
her  head,  the  woman  showed  that  she 
was  aware  of  her  master's  schemes, 
14 


!  and  why  her  girl  had  been  taken 
away        She    knew ;    but     she     was 

!  beaten.     It   runuiined   for  her  but  to 

!  be  silent  and  bow  her  head.  I  dare 
say  she  did  not  sleep  one  wink  that 
niglit.  She  followed  the  diligence  in 
its  journey.  "  Char  is  gone,"  slic 
thought.  "  Yes  ;  in  due  time  lie  will 
take  from  me  the  obedience  of  my 
other  children,  and  tear  them  out  of 
my  lap."  He  —  that  is,  the  General 
—  was  sleeping  meanwhile.  He  had 
had  in  the  last  few  days  four  aw- 
ful battles,  —  with  his  child,  with  his 
friends,  with  his  wife,  —  in  which 
latter  combat  he  had  been  contjiuror. 

I  Ko    wonder   Baynes  was   tirtd,    and 

'  needed  rest.  Any  one  of  those  en- 
gagements was  enough  to  weary  the 
veteran. 

If  we  take  the  liberty  of  looking 
into  double-bedded  rooms,  and  peer- 
ing into  the  thoughts  which  are  pass- 
ing under  private  nightcaps,  may  we 
not  examine  the  coupe'  of  a  jingling 
diligence  with  an  open  window,  in 
which  a  young  lady  sits  wide  awake 
by   the  side  of  her   uncle  and  ainit  ? 

I  These  perhaps  arc  asleep  ;  but  she  is 
not.  Ah!  she  is  thinking  of  another 
journey  !  tliiit  blissful  one  iiom  Bou- 
logne, Avhen  he  was  there  yonder  in 
the  imperial,  by  the  side  of  the  con- 
dueior.  When  the  Mac  Whirtei  party 
had  come  to  the  diligence  office,  how 
her  little  heart  had   beat !     How  she 

i  had  looked  under  the  lamps  at  all  the 
people  lounging  about  the  court ! 
How  she  haii  listened  when  the  clerk 

I  called  out  the  names  of  the  jjassen- 
gers  ;  and,  mercy,  what  a  fright  she 

i  had  been  in,  lest  he  should  be  there 

I  after  all,  while  she  stoo^!  yet  leaning 
on  her  father's  arm !  But  there 
was  no  —  well,  names,  I  think,  need 
scarcely  be  mentioned.     There    was 

I  no  sign  of  the  individual  in  question. 

[  Papa  kissed  her,  and  sadly  said  good 

I  by.  Good  Madame  Smolensk  came 
with  an  adieu  and  an  embrace  for  her 

I  dear  Miss,  and  whispered,  "  Courage, 

I  mon  enfiint,"  and  then  said,  "  Hold, 

I I  have  brought  you  some  bonbons." 
I  They  were  in  a  little  packet.     Little 


314 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Charlotte  put  the  packet  into  her 
little  basket.  Away  uoes  the  dili- 
gence, but  the  individual  had  made 
no  si;^n. 

Away  goes  the  diligence;  and 
every  now  and  then  Charlotte  feels  the 
little  packet  in  her  little  basket.  What 
does  it  contain  —  O,  what  1  If  Char- 
lotte could  but  read  with  her  heart, 
she  would  see  in  that  little  packet  — 
the  sweetest  bonbon  of  all  perhaps  it 
might  be,  or,  ah  me !  the  bitterest 
ahnond !  Through  the  night  goes 
the  diligence,  passing  relay  after  re- 
lay. Uncle  Mac  sleeps.  I  think  I 
have  said  he  snored.  Aunt  Mac  is 
quite  silent,  and  Char  sits  plaintively 
with  her  lonely  tlioughts  and  her  bon- 
bons, as  miles,  hours,  relays  pass. 

"These  ladies  will  they  descend 
and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  cup  of  bou- 
illon ?  "  at  last  cries  a  waiter  at  the 
coupe  door,  as  the  carriage  stops  in 
Orleans.  "By  all  means  a  cup  of 
coffee,."  says  Aunt  Mac.  "  The  little 
Orleans  wine  is  good,"  cries  Uncle 
Mac.  "  Descendons !  "  "  This  way, 
madame,"  says  the  waiter.  "  Char- 
lotte my  love,  some  coffee  1  " 

"  I  will  —  I  will  stay  in  the  car- 
riage. I  don't  want  anything,  thank 
you,"  says  Miss  Charlotte.  And  the 
instant  her  relations  are  gone,  enter- 
ing the  gate  of  the  "  Lion  Noir," 
where,  you  know,  are  the  Bureaux 
des  Messageries  Lafitte,  Caillard  ct 
C'"  —  I  say,  on  the  very  instant  when 
her  relations  have  disappeared,  what 
do  you  think  Miss  Charlotte  does  ? 

She  opens  that  packet  of  bonbons 
with  fingers  that  tremble  —  tremMe 
so  I  wonder  how  she  could  undo  the 
knot  of  the  string  (or  do  you  think 
she  had  untied  that  knot  under  her 
shawl  in  the  dark  ?  I  can't  say.  We 
never  shall  know).  Well ;  she  opens 
the  packet.  She  does  not  care  one 
fig  for  the  lolli])ops,  almonds,  and  so 
forth.  She  pounces  on  a  little  scrap 
of  paper,  and  is  going  to  read  it  by 
the  light  of  the  steaming  stable  lan- 
terns, when  —  O,  what  made  her 
start  so  ? 

lu  those  old  days  there  used  to  be 


two  diligences  which  travelled  night- 
ly  to  Tours,  setting  out  at  the  same 
hour,  and  stopping  at  almost  the 
same  relays.  The  diligence  of  La- 
fitte and  Caillard  supped  at  the  "  Lion 
Noir,"  at  Orleans,  —  the  diligence  of 
the  Messageries  Royales  stopped  at 
the  "  Ecu  de  France,"  hard  by. 

Well,  as  the  Messageries  Royales 
are  supping  at  the  "  Ecu  de  France," 
a  passenger  strolls  over  from  that 
coach,  and  strolls  and  strolls  until 
he  comes  to  the  coach  of  Lafitte, 
Caillard,  and  Company,  and  to  the 
coupe  window  where  Miss  Baynes  is 
trying  to  det  ipher  her  bonbon. 

He  comes  up,  —  and  as  the  night- 
lamps  fall  on  his  face  and  beard,  —  his 
rosy  face,  his  yellow  be.ird  —  oh  ! 
—  what  means  that  scream  of  the 
young  lady  in  the  coupe'  of  Lafitte, 
Caillard,  et  Compaguie!  I  declare 
she  has  dropped  the  letter  which  she 
was  about  to  read.  It  has  dropped 
into  a  pool  of  mud  under  the  dili- 
gence off  fore-wheel.  And  he  with 
the  yellow  beard,  and  a  sweet  happy 
laugh,  and  a  tremble  in  his  deep 
voice,  says,  "  You  need  not  read  it. 
It  was  only  to  tell  you  what  you 
know." 

Then  the  coup^  window  savs,  "  O 
Philip!  Omy— " 

My  what  7  You  cannot  hear  the 
words,  because  the  gray  Norman 
horses  come  squealing  and  clattering 
up  to  their  coach  pole  \vith  such  ac- 
companying cries  and  imprecations 
from  the  horsekeepers  and  postilions, 
that  no  wonder  the  little  warble  is 
lost.  It  was  not  intended  for  you 
and  me  to  hear ;  but  perhaps  you  can 
guess  the  purport  of  the  words.  Per- 
haps in  quite  old,  old  days,  you  may 
remember  having  heard  such  little 
whispers,  in  a  time  when  the  song- 
birds in  your  grove  carolled  that  kind 
of  song  very  pleasantly  and  freely. 
But  this,  my  good  madam,  is  writ- 
ten in  February.  The  birds  are  gone : 
the  branches  are  bare :  the  gardener 
has  actually  swept  the  leaves  off  the 
walks :  and  the  whole  affair  is  an 
affair  of  a  past  year,  you  understand. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


S15 


Well !  carpe  diem,  fugit  hora,  &c.,  &c. 
There,  for  one  minute,  for  two  min- 
utes, stands  Philip  over  the  dilii.a^nce 
off  fore-wheel,  talking  to  Charlotte 
at  the  window,  and  their  heads  are 
quite  close  —  quite  close.  What  are 
those  two  pairs  of  lips  warbling,  whis- 

Eering'?  "Hi!  Gare!  Ohii !  "  The 
orsekeepers,  I  say,  quite  prevent 
you  from  hearing;  and  here  come 
the  passengers  out  of  the  "  Lion 
Noir,  Aunt  Mac  still  munching  a 
great  slice  of  bread-and-butter.  Char- 
lotte is  quite  comfortable,  and  does 
not  want  anything,  dear  aunt,  thank 
you.  I  hope  she  nestles  in  her  cor- 
ner, and  has  a  sweet  slumber.  On 
the  journey  the  twin  diligences  pass 
and  repass  each  other.  Perliaps 
Charlotte  looks  out  of  her  window 
eonietimes  and  towards  the  other 
carriage.  I  don't  know.  It  is  a 
long  time  ago.  What  used  you  to 
do  in  old  days,  ere  railroads  were, 
and  when  diligences  ran?  They 
were  slow  enough  :  but  they  have  got 
to  their  journey's  end  somehow. 
They  were  tight,  hot,  dusty,  dear, 
stuffy,  and  uncomfortable ;  but,  for 
all  that,  travelling  was  good  sport 
sometimes.  And  if  the  world  would 
have  the  kindness  to  go  back  for  five 
and  twenty  or  thirty  years,  some  of 
us  who  have  travelled  on  the  Tours 
and  Orleans  Railway  very  comfort- 
ably would  like  to  take  the  diligence 
journey  now. 

Having  myself  seen  the  city  of 
Tours  only  last  year,  of  course  I 
don't  remember  much  fibout  it.  A 
man  remembers  boyhood,  and  the 
first  si<rht  of  Calais,  and  so  forth. 
But  after  much  travel  or  converse 
with  the  world,  to  see  a  new  town  is 
to  be  introduced  to  Jones.  He  is 
like  Brown  ;  he  is  not  unlike  Smith. 
In  a  little  while  you  hash  him  up 
■with  Thompson.  I  dare  not  be  par- 
ticular, then,  regarding  Mr.  Firmin's 
life  at  Tours,  lest  I  should  make 
typographical  errors,  for  which  the 
critical  schoolmaster  would  justly  in- 
flict chastisement  In  the  last  novel  I 
r«ad  about  Tours  there  were  blunders 


from  the  effect  of  which  you  know  the 
wretched  author  never  recovered.  It 
was  by  one  Scott,  and  had  young 
Quentin  Durward  for  a  hero,  and  Isa- 
bel de  Croye  for  a  heroine ;  and  she 
sat,  in  her  hostel,  and  sang,  "Ah, 
County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh."  A 
pretty  ballad  enough  :  but  wliat 
ignorance,  my  dear  sir!  What  de- 
scriptions of  Tours,  of  Lie'ge,  are  in 
that  fallacious  story!  Yes,  so  falla- 
cious and  misleading,  that  I  remem- 
ber I  was  sorry,  not  because  the 
description  was  unlike  Tours,  but 
because  Tours  was  unlike  the  descrip- 
tion. 

So  Quentin  Firmm  went  and  put 
up  at  the  snug  little  hostel  of  the 
"  Faisan "  ;  and  Isabel  de  Bayncs 
took  up  her  abode  with  her  uncle  the 
Sire  de  MacWhiricr:  and  I  believe 
Master  Firniin  had  no  more  money 
in  his  pocket  than  the  Master  Dur- 
ward whose  story  the  Scottish  novel- 
ist told  some  forty  years  since.  And 
I  cannot  promise  you  that  our  young 
English  adventurer  shall  marry  a 
noble  heiress  of  vast  property,  and 
engage  the  Boar  of  Ardennes  in  a 
hand-to-hand  combat;  that  sort  of 
Boar,  madam,  does  not  appear  in 
our  modem  drawing-room  histories. 
Of  others,  not  wild,  there  be  plenty. 
They  gore  you  in  clubs.  They  seize 
you  by  the  doublet,  and  pin  you 
against  posts  in  public  streets.  They 
run  at  you  in  porks.  1  have  seen 
them  sit  at  bay  after  dinner,  ripping, 
gashing,  tossing,  a  wliole  company. 
These  our  young  adventurer  had  in 
good  sooth  to  encounter,  as  is  the 
case  with  most  knights.  Whoescaiics 
them?  I  remember  an  eminent  iicr- 
son  talking  to  me  about  bores  lor 
two  hours  once.  0  you  stiijiid 
eminent  person  !  You  never  know 
that  you  yourself  had  tusks,  little 
eyes  in  your^we;  a  bristly  mane  to 
ciit  into'  tooth-brushes  ;  and  a  curly 
tail !  I  have  a  notion  that  the  multi- 
tude of  bores  is  enormous  in  the 
world.  If  a  man  is  a  bore  himself, 
when  he  is  bored,  —  and  you  can't 
deny  this  statement,  —  then  what  am 


316 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


I,  what  are  you,  what  your  father, 
grandfather,  son,  —  all  your  amiable 
acquaintance  in  a  word  ^  Of  this  I 
am  sure.  Major  and  Mrs.  MacWIiir- 
ter  were  not  brilliant  in  conversation. 
What  would  you  and  1  do,  or  say,  if 
we  listen  to  the  tittle  tattle  of  Tours. 
How  the  clergyman  was  certainly  too 
fond  of  cards,  and  going  to  the  cafe  ; 
how  the  dinners  those  Popjoys  gave 
were  too  absurdly  ostentatious ;  and 
Popjoy,  we  know,  in  the  Bench  last 
year.  How  Mrs.  Flights,  going  on 
with  that  Major  of  French  Carabi- 
niers,  was  really  too,  &c.,  &c.  "  How 
could  I  endure  those  people  1  "  Philip 
would  ask  himself,  when  talking  of 
that  personage  in  after  days,  as  he 
loved,  and  loves  to  do.  "  How  could 
1  endure  tliem,  I  say  1  Mac  was  a 
good  man  ;  but  I  knew  secretly  in 
mv  heart,  sir,  that  he  was  a  bore. 
Well  .  I  loved  him.  I  liked  his  old 
stories.  I  liked  his  bad  old  dinners  : 
there  is  a  very  comfortable  Touraine 
wine,  by  the  way,  —  a  very  warming 
little  wine,  sir.  Mrs.  Mac  you  never 
saw,  my  good  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Be 
sure  of  this,  vou  never  would  have 
liked  her.  Well,  I  did.  I  liked  her 
house,  though  it  was  damp,  in  a 
damp  garden,  frequented  by  dull 
people.  I  should  like  to  go  and  see 
that  old  house  now.  I  am  perfectly 
happy  with  my  wife,  but  I  so;nctiraes 
go  away  from  her  to  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  living  over  our  old  days  again. 
With  nothing  in  the  world  but  an  al- 
lowance which  was  precarious,  and 
had  l>een  spent  in  advance  ;  with  no 
j)articular  plans  for  the  future,  and  a 
few  Hve-franc  pieces  for  the  present, 
—  by  Jove,  sir,  how  did  I  dare  to  be 
so  happy  ?  What  idiots  we  were, 
my  love,  to  be  happy  at  all !  We 
were  mad  to  marry.  Don't  tell  me  : 
with  a  purse  which  didn't  contain 
three  months'  consumption,  would  we 
dare  to  marry  now  ?  We  should  be 
put  into  the  mad  ward  of  the  work- 
house :  that  would  be  the  only  place 
for  us.  Talk  about  trusting  in  Heav- 
en. Stuff  and  nonsense,  ma'am  !  I 
have  as  good  a  right  to  go  and  buy  a 


house  in  Belgrave  Square,  and  trust 
to  Heaven  for  the  payment,  as  I  had 
to  marry  when  I  did.  We  were 
paupers,  Mrs.  Char,  and  you  know 
that  very  well !  " 

"O  yes.  We  were  very  wrong: 
very  !  "  says  Mrs.  Charlotte,  looking 
up  to  her  chandelier  (which,  by  the 
way,  is  of  very  handsome  Venetian 
old  glass).  "  We  were  very  wrong, 
were  not  we,  my  dearest  1  "  And 
herewith  she  will  begin  to  kiss  and 
fondle  two  or  more  babies  that  dis- 
port in  her  room,  —  as  if  two  or 
more  babies  had  anything  to  do  witli 
Philip  s  argument,  that  a  man  has 
no  right  to  marry  who  has  no  pretty 
well-assured  means  of  keeping  a 
wife. 

Here,  then,  by  the  banks  of  Loire, 
although  Philip  had  but  a  very  few 
francs  in  his  pocket  and  was  obliged 
to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  his  ex- 
penses at  the  Hotel  of  the  "  Golden 
Pheasant,"  he  passed  a  fortnight  of 
such   happiness   as   I,   for  my  part, 
wish  to  all  young  folks  who  read  his 
veracious  history.     Though   he   was 
so  poor,  and  ate  and  drank  so  modest- 
ly in  the  house,  the  maids,  wailters, 
{ the  landlady  of  the  "  Pheasant,"  were 
as  civil  to  him,  — yes,  as  civil  as  they 
I  were  to  the  gouty  old  Marchioness  of 
I  Carabas  herself,  who  stayed  here  on 
I  her  way  to  the   south,  occupied  the 
grand    apartments,  quarrelled    with 
her  lodging,  dinner,  breakfast,  hrcad- 
!  and-butter   in   general,    insulted    the 
I  landlady  in   bad   French,   and   only 
paid     her    bill     under    compulsion. 
;  Philip's  was  a  little  bill,  but  he  paid 
it  cheerfully.     He  gave  only  a  small 
gratuity  to  the  servants,  but  he  wiis 
kind  and  hearty,  and  they  knew  he 
was  poor.     He  was  kind  and  hearty, 
I  suppo.se,  because  he  was  so  happy. 
j  I  have  known  the  gentleman  to  be  by 
I  no  means  civil ;  and   have  heard  him 
j  storm,  and  hector,  and  browbeat  land- 
lord and   waiters,   as   fiercely  as  the 
Marquis   of   Carabas    himself.     But 
now  Philip   the  Bear  was  the  most 
gentle    of   bears,   because    his    little 
Charlotte  was  leading  him. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


317 


Away  with  trouble  and  doubt,  with 
squeamish  pride  and  gloomy  care  ! 
Philip  had  enough  money  for  a  fort- 
night, during  which  Tom  Glazier,  of 
the  Monitor,  promised  to  supjily  Phil- 
ip's letters  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
All  the  designs  of  France,  Spain, 
Russia,  gave  that  idle  "  own  corre- 
spondent "  not  the  slightest  anxiety. 
'  In  the  morning  it  was  Miss  Baynes  ; 
in  the  afternoon  it  was  Miss  Baynes. 
At  six  it  was  dinner  and  Charlotte  ; 
at  nine  it  was  Charlotte  and  tea. 
"Anyhow,  love-making  does  not 
spoil  his  appetite,"  Major  Mac  VVhirter 
correctly  remarked.  Indeed,  Philip 
had  a  glorious  appetite ;  and  health 
bloomed  in  Miss  Charlotte's  cheek, 
and  beamed  in  her  happy  little  heart. 
Dr.  Firmin,  in  the  height  of  his  prac- 
tice, never  completed  a  cure  more 
skilfully  than  that  which  was  per- 
formed by  Dr.  Firmin,  junior. 

"  I  ran  the  thing  so  close,  sir,"  I 
remember  Philip  bawling  out,  in  his 
usual  energetic  way,  whilst  describ- 
ing this  period  of  his  life's  greatest 
happiness  to  his  biographer,  "  that 
I  came  back  to  Paris  outside  the  dili- 
gence, and  had  not  money  enough  to 
dine  on  the  road.  But  I  bought  a 
sausage,  sir,  and  a  bit  of  bread,  — 
and  a  brutal  sausage  it  was,  sir,  — 
and  I  reached  my  lodgings  with  ex- 
actly two  sous  in  my  pocket."  Roger 
Bontemps  himself  was  not  more  con- 
tent than  our  easy  philosopher. 

So  Philip  and  Charlotte  ratified 
and  sealed  a  treaty  of  Tours,  which 
they  determined  should  never  be 
broken  by  either  party.  Marry  with- 
out papa's  consent?  O,  never! 
Marry  anybody  but  Philip  ?  O, 
never  —  never  !  Not  if  she  lived  to 
be  a  hundred,  when  Philip  would  in 
consequence  be  in  his  hundred  and 
ninth  or  tenth  year,  would  this  young 
Joan  have  any  but  her  present  Dar- 
by. Aunt  Mac,  though  she  may  not 
have  been  the  most  accomplished  or 
highly  bred  of  ladies,  was  a  warm- 
hearted and  affectionate  aunt  Mac. 
She  caught  in  a  mild  form  the  fever 
from  these  young  people.    She  had 


I  not  much  to  leave,  and  Mac's  relations 
j  won  111  want  all  he  could  spare  when 
,  he  was  gone.  But  Charlotte  should 
have  her  garnets,  and  her  tea])ot,  and 
her  India  shawl,  —  that  she  should.* 
And  with  many  blessings  this  en- 
thusiastic old  lady  took  leave  of  her 
future  nephew-in-law  when  he  re- 
turned to  Paris  and  duty.  Crack  your 
M-hip  and  sircam  your  hi !  and  be  off 
quick,  postilion  and  diligence  !  I  am 
glad  we  have  taken  Mr.  Firmin  out 
of  that  dangerous,  lazy,  love-making 
place  !  Nothing  is  to  me  so  sweet  as 
sentimental  writing.  I  could  have 
written  hundreds  of  pages  describing 
Philip  and  Charlotte,  Charlotte  and 
I'hilip.  But  a  stern  sense  of  duty 
intervenes.  My  modest  Muse  puts  a 
finger  on  her  lip,  and  says,  "  Hush 
about  that  business  !  "  Ah,  my 
worthy  friends,  you  little  know  what 
soft-hearted  people  those  cynics  are ! 
If  you  could  have  come  on  Diogenes 
by  surprise,  I  dare  say  you  might 
have  found  him  reading  sentimental 
novels  and  whimpering  in  his  tub. 
Philip  shall  leave  his  sweetheart  and 
go  back  to  his  business,  and  we  will  not 
have  one  Avord  about  tears,  promises, 
raptures,  parting.  Never  mind  about 
these  sentimentalities,  but  please, 
rather,  to  depict  to  yourself  our  young 
fellow  so  poor  that  when  the  coach 
stops  for  dinner  at  Orleans  he  can 
only  afford  to  purchase  a  penny-loaf 
and  a  sausage  for  his  own  hungry 
cheek.  When  he  reached  the  "  Ho- 
tel Poussin  "  with  his  meagre  carpet" 
bag,  they  served  him  a  supper  which 
he  ate  to  the  admiration  of  all  be- 
holders in  the  little  coffee-room.  He 
was  in  great  spirits  and  gayety.  Ha 
did  not  care  to  make  any  secret  of 
his  poverty,  and  how  he  had  been  vin» 
able  to  afford  to  pay  for  dinner.  MosJ 
of  the  guests  at  "  Hotel  Poussin " 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  poor.     Often 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  th.-vt  in  la'er  days, 
after  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter's  decease,  it 
was  found  that  she  had  promised  these  treas- 
ures in  writing  to  several  members  of  her 
husband's  family,  and  that  much  heart-burn- 
ing arose  in  consequence.  But  our  story  haa 
nothing  to  do  with  tliese  painful  disputes. 


318 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


and  often  they  had  dined  on  credit 
when  they  put  back  their  napkins  into 
their  respective  pigeon-holes.  But 
my  landlord  knew  his  guests.  They 
were  poor  men,  —  honest  men.  They 
paid  him  in  the  end,  and  each  could 
help  his  neighbor  in  a  strait. 

After  Mr.  Firmin's  return  to  Paris, 
he  did  not  care  for  a  while  to  go  to 
the  Elysian  Fields.  They  were  not 
Elysiau  for  him,  except  in  Miss 
Charlotte's  company.  He  resumed 
his  newspaper  correspondence,  which 
occupied  but  a  day  in  each  week, 
and  he  had  the  other  six,  —  nay,  he 
scribbled  on  the  seventh  day  likewise, 
and  covered  immense  sheets  of  letter- 
paper  with  remarks  upon  all  man- 
ner of  subjects,  addressed  to  a  certain 
Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle  Baynes, 
chez  M.  le  Major  Mac,  &c.  On  these 
sheets  of  paper  Mr.  Firmin  could  talk 
so  long,  so  loudly,  so  fervently,  so 
eloquently  to  Miss  Baynes,  that  she 
was  never  tired  of  hearing,  or  he  of 
holding  forth.  He  began  imparting 
his  dreams  and  his  earliest  sensations 
to  his  beloved  before  breakfast.  At 
noonday  he  gave  her  his  opinion  of 
the  contents  of  the  morning  papers. 
His  packet  was  ordinarily  full  and 
brimming  over  by  post-time,  so  that 
his  expressions  of  love  and  fidelity 
leaked  from  under  the  cover,  or  were 
squeezed  into  the  queerest  corners, 
where,  no  doubt,  it  was  a  delightful 
task  for  Miss  Baynes  to  trace  out  and 
detect  those  little  Cupids  which  a 
faithful  lover  despatched  to  her.  It 
would  be,  "I  have  found  this  little 
comer  unoccupied.  Do  you  know 
what  I  have  to  say  in  it  ? '  O  Char- 
lotte, I,"  &c.,  &c.  My  sweet  young 
lady,  you  can  guess,  or  will  one  day 
guess,  the  rest ;  and  will  receive  such 
dear,  delightful,  nonsensical  double 
letters,  and  will  answer  them  with 
that  elegant  propriety  which  I  have 
no  doubt  Miss  Baynes  showed  in  her 
replies.  Ah!  if  all  who  are  writing 
and  receiving  such  letters,  or  who 
have  written  and  received  such,  or 
who  remember  writing  and  receiving 
such  letters,  would  order  a  copy  of 


this  novel  from  the  publishers,  what 
reams,  and  piles,  and  pyramids  of 
paper  our  ink  would  have  to  blacken  ! 
Since  Charlotte  and  Philip  had  been 
engaged  to  each  other,  he  had  scarce- 
ly, except  in  those  dreadful,  ghastly 
days  of  quarrel,  enjoyed  the  luxury 
of  absence  from  his  soul's  blessing,  — • 
the.  exquisite  delights  of  writing  to 
her.  He  could  do  few  things  in ' 
moderation,  tliis  man,  —  and  of  this 
delightful  privilege  of  writing  to  Chat' 
lotte  he  now  enjoyed  his  heart's  fill. 

After  brief  enjoyment  of  the  weeks 
of  this  rapture,  when  winter  was  come 
on  Paris,  and  icicles  hung  on  the 
bough,  how  did  it  happen  that  one 
day,  two  days,  three  days  passed,  and 
the  postman  brought  no  little  letter  in 
the  well-known  little  handwriting  for 
Monsieur,  Monsieur  Philip  Firmin  a 
Paris "?  Three  days,  four  days,  and 
no  letter.  O  torture,  could  she  be  ill  f 
Could  her  aunt  and  uncle  have  turn- 
ed .against  her,  and  forbidden  her  to 
write,  as  her  father  and  mother  had 
done  before  ?  O  grief,  and  sorrow, 
and  rage !  As  for  jealousy,  our 
leonine  friend  never  knew  such  a 
passion.  It  never  entered  into  his 
lordly  heart  to  doubt  of  his  little 
maiden's  love.  But  still  four,  five 
days  have  passed,  and  not  one  word 
has  come  from  Tours.  The  little 
"  Hotel  Poussin"  was  in  a  commotion. 
I  have  said  that  when  our  friend  felt 
any  passion  very  strongly  he  was  sure 
to  speak  of  it.  Did  Don  Quixote 
lose  any  opportunity  of  declaring  to 
the  world  that  Dulcinea  del  Toboso 
was  peerless  among  women  ?  Did 
not  Antar  bawl  out  in  battle.  "  I  am 
the  lover  of  Ibla  ?  "  Our  knight  had 
taken  all  the  people  of  the  hotel  into 
his  confidence  somehow.  They  all 
knew  of  his  condition,  —  all,  the 
painter,  the  poet,  the  half-pay  Polish 
officer,  the  landlord,  the  hostess,  down 
to  the  little  knife-boy  who  used  to 
come  in  with,  "The  factor  comes  of  to 
pass,  —  no  letter  this  morning." 

No  doubt  Philip's  political  letters 
became,  under  this  outward  pressure, 
very  desponding  and  gloomy.    One 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


319 


day,  as  he  sat  gnawing  his  mustaches 
at  his  desk,  the  little  Anatole  enters 
his  apartment  and  cries,  "  Tenez,  M. 
Philipj)e.  Tliat  lady  again  !  "  And 
the  faithful,  the  watchful,  the  active 
Madame  Smolensk  once  more  made 
her  appearance  in  his  chamber. 

Philip  blushed  and  hung  his  head 
for  shame.  "  Ungrateful  brute  that 
I  am,"  he  thought ;  "  I  have  been 
back  more  than  a  week,  and  never 
thought  a  bit  about  that  good,  kind 
soul  who  came  to  my  succor.  I 
am  an  awful  egotist.  Love  is  always 
so." 

As  he  rose  up  to  greet  his  friend, 
she  looked  so  grave,  and  pale,  and 
sad,  that  he  could  not  but  note  her 
demeanor.  "  Bon  Dieu !  had  any- 
thing happened  1  " 

"  Ce  pauvre  Gene'ral  is  ill,  very  ill, 
Philip,'  Smolensk  said,  in  her  grave 
voice. 

He  was  so  gravely  ill,  madame 
said,  that  his  daughter  had  been  sent 
for. 

"  Had  she  come  7  "  asked  Philip, 
with  a  start. 

"  You  think  but  of  her,  —  you  care 
not  for  the  poor  old  man.  You  are 
all  the  same,  you  men.  All  egotists, 
—  all.  Go!  I  know  you!  1  never 
knew  one  that  was  not,"  said  Ma- 
dame. 

Philip  has  his  little  faults  :  perhaps 
egotism  is  one  of  his  defects.  Perhaps 
it  is  yours,  or  even  mine. 

"  You  have  been  here  a  week  since 
Thursday  last,  and  you  have  never 
written  or  sent  to  a  woman  who  loves 
you  well.  Go !  It  was  not  well, 
Monsieur  Philippe." 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  Philip  felt 
that  he  had  been  neglectful  and  un- 
grateful. We  have  owned  so  much 
already.  But  how  should  madame 
know  that  he  had  returned  on  Thurs- 
day week  1  When  they  looked  up 
after  her  reproof,  his  eager  eyes  seemed 
to  ask  this  question. 

"  Could  she  not  write  to  me  and 
tell  me  that  you  were  come  back  1 
Perhaps  she  knew  that  you  would 
not  do  so  yourself.    A  woman's  heart 


teaches  her  these  experiences  early," 
continued  the  lady,  sadly  ;  then  she 
added  :  "  I  tell  you,  you  are  good-for- 
nothings,  all  of  you  !  And  I  repent 
me,  sec  you,  of  having  had  the  betise 
to  pity  you  !  " 

"  I  shall  have  my  quarter's  pay  on 
Saturday.  I  was  coming  to  you 
then,"  said  Philip. 

"  Was  it  that  I  was  speaking  of? 
What !  you  are  all  cowards,  men  all ! 
O,  that  I  have  been  beast,  beast,  to 
think  at  last  I  had  found  a  man  of 
heart ! " 

How  much  or  how  often  this  poor 
Ariadne  had  trusted  and  been  for- 
saken, I  have  no  means  of  knowing, 
or  desire  of  inquiring.  Perhaps  it  is 
as  well  for  the  polite  reader,  who  is 
taken  into  my  entire  confidence,  that 
we  should  not  know  Madame  de 
Smolensk's  history  from  the  first 
page  to  the  last.  Granted  that  Ari- 
adne was  deceived  by  Theseus:  but 
then  she  consoled  herself,  as  we  may 
all  read  in  "  Smith's  Dictionary  " ; 
and  then  she  must  have  deceived  her 
father  in  order  to  run  away  with  The- 
seus. I  suspect  —  I  suspect,  I  say, 
that  these  women  who  are  so  very 
much  betrayed,  are  —  but  we  are 
speculating  on  this  French  lady's  an- 
tecedents, when  Charlotte,  her  lover, 
and  her  fiimiiy  are  the  persons  with 
whom  we  have  mainly' to  do. 

These  two,  I  suppose,  forgot  self, 
about  which  each  for  a  moment  had 
been  busy,  and  Madame  resumed  :  — 
"  Yes,  yon  have  reason  ;  Miss  is  here. 
It  was  time.  Hold  !  Here  is  a  note 
from  her."  And  Philip's  kind  mes- 
senger once  more  put  a  paper  into  his 
hands. 

"  My  dearest  father  is  very,  very  ill. 
O  Philip  !  I  am  so  unhappy  ;  and  he 
is  so  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  and 
loves  me  so  !  " 

"  It  is  true,"  Madame  resumed. 
"  Before  Charlotte  came,  he  thought 
only  of  her.  When  his  wife  comes 
up  to  him,  he  turns  from  her.  I  have 
not  loved  her  much,  that  lady,  that  is 
true.  But  to  see  her  now,  it  is 
navrant.     He  will  take  no  medicine 


320 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


from  her.  He  pushes  her  away.  Be- 
fore Charlotte  came,  he  sent  for  me, 
and  spoke  as  well  as  his  poor  throat 
would  let  him,  this  poor  General ! 
His  daugliter's  arrival  seemed  to  com- 
fort him.  But  he  says,  '  Not  my 
wife  !  not  my  wife  ! '  And  the  poor 
tiling;  has  to  go  away  and  cry  in  the 
chamber  at  the  side.  He  says  —  in 
his  French,  you  know  —  he  has  never 
hcen  well  since  Charlotte  went  away. 
He  has  often  been  out.  He  has  dined 
but  rarely  at  our  table,  and  there  has 
always  been  a  silence  between  him 
and  Madame  la  (iene'rale.  Last  week  ; 
he  had  a  great  inflammation  of  the  j 
chest.  Then  he  took  to  bed,  and  | 
Monsieur  the  Docteur  came,  —  tlie  lit- 
tle doctor  whom  you  know.  Then  a 
quinsy  has  declared  itself,  and  he  now 
is  scarce  able  to  speak.  His  condition 
is  most  grave.  He  lies  sulfering,  dy- 
ing, perhaps,  —  yes,  dying,  do  you 
hear  ?  And  you  are  thinking  of  your 
little  school-girl !  Men  are  all  the 
same.     Monsters !     Go ! " 

Philip,  who,  I  have  said,  is  very 
fond  of  talking  about  Philip,  surveys 
his  own  faults  with  great  magnanim- 
ity and  good-humor,  and  acknowl- 
edges them  without  the  least  intention 
to  correct  them.  "  How  selfish  we 
are  !  "  I  can  hear  him  say,  looking  at 
himself  in  the  glass.  "  By  George  ! 
sir,  when  I  heard  simultaneously  the 
news  of  that  poor  old  man's  illness, 
and  of  Charlotte's  return,  I  felt  that 
I  wanted  to  see  her  that  instant.  I 
must  go  to  her,  and  speak  to  her. 
The  old  man  and  his  suffering  did 
not  seem  to  affect  me.  It  is  humili- 
ating to  have  to  own  that  we  are  self- 
ish ]>easts.  But  we  are,  sir,  —  we  are 
l)rutes,  by  George !  and  nothing  else." 
—  And  he  gives  a  finishing  twist  to 
the  ends  of  his  flaming  mustaches  as 
he  surveys  them  in  the  glass. 

Poor  little  Charlotte  was  in  such 
atfiiction  that  of  course  she  must  have 
Philip  to  console  her  at  once.  No 
time  was  to  be  lost.  Quick !  a  cab 
this  moment  :  and,  coachman,  you 
shall  have  an  extra  for  drink  if  you 
go  quick  to  the  Avenue  de  Valmy  ! 


Madame  puts  herself  into  the  carriage, 
and  as  they  go  along,  tells  Philip 
more  at  lengtli  of  the  gloomy  occur- 
rences of  the  last  few  days  Four 
days  since  the  poor  General  was  so 
bad  with  his  (juinsy  that  he  thought 
he  should  not  recover,  and  Charlotte 
was  sent  for.  He  was  a  little  better 
on  the  day  of  her  arrival ;  but  yester- 
day the  inflammation  had  increased  ; 
he  could  not  swallow  ;  he  could  not 
speak  audibly  ;  he  was  in  very  great 
suffering  and  danger.  He  turned 
away  from  his  wife.  The  unhappy 
Generaless  had  been  to  Madame 
Bunch  ill  her  tears  and  grief,  com- 
plaining that  after  twenty  years'  fidel- 
ity and  attachment  her  husband  had 
withdrawn  his  regard  from  her. 
Baynes  attributed  even  his  illness  to 
his'  wife ;  and  at  other  times  said  it 
was  a  just  punishment  for  his  wicked 
conduct  in  breaking  his  word  to  Philip 
and  Charlotte.  If  he  did  not  see  his 
dear  child  again  he  must  beg  her  for- 
giveness for  having  made  her  suffer 
so.  He  had  acted  wickedly  and  un- 
gratefully, and  his  wife  had  forced 
him  to  do  what  he  did.  He  prayed 
that  Heaven  migiit  pardon  him.  And 
he  had  behaved  with  wicked  injustice 
towards  Philip,  who  had  acted  most 
generously  towards  his  family.  And 
he  had  been  a  scoundrel,  —  he  knew 
he  had,  —  and  Bunch,  and  MacWhir- 
ter,  and  the  Doctor  all  said  so,  —  and 
it  was  that  woman's  doing.  And  he 
jjointed  to  the  scared  ^vife  as  he  pain- 
fully hissed  out  these  words  of  anger 
and  contrition  :  —  "  When  I  saw  that 
child  ill,  and  almost  made  mad,  be- 
cause I  broke  my  word,  I  felt  I  was  a 
scoundrel,  Martin ;  and  I  was  ;  and 
that  woman  made  me  so ;  and  I  de- 
serve to  be  shot ;  and  I  sha'  n't  re- 
cover ;  I  tell  you  I  sha'  n't."  Dr. 
Martin,  who  attended  the  General, 
thus  described  his  patient's  last  talk 
and  behavior  to  Philip. 

It  was  the  doctor  who  sent  ma- 
dame  in  quest  of  the  young  man.  Ho 
found  poor  Mrs.  Baynes  with  hot, 
tearless  eyes  and  livid  face,  a  wretched 
sentinel   outside  the  sick  -  chamber. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


321 


''You  will  find  General  Baynes  very 
ill,  sir,"  she  said  to  Philip  with  a 
ghastly  calmness,  and  a  gaze  he  could 
scarcely  face.  "  My  daughter  is  in 
the  room  with  him.  It  appears 
I  have  offended  him,  and  he  refuses 
to  see  me."  And  she  squeezed  a  dry 
handkerchief  which  she  held,  andjjut 
on  her  spectacles  again,  and  tried 
again  to  read  the  Bible  in   her  lap. 

Philip  hardly  knew  the  meaning 
of  Mrs.  Baynes's  words  as  yet.  He 
was  agitated  by  the  thought  of  the 
General's  illness,  perhaps  by  the  no- 
tion that  the  beloved  was  so  near. 
Her  hand  was  in  his  a  moment  after- 
wards ;  and,  even  in  that  sad  cham- 
ber, each  could  give  the  other  a  soft 
pressure,  a  fond,  silent  signal  of  mu- 
tual love  and  faith. 

The  poor  man  laid  the  hands  of 
the  young  people  together,  and  his 
own  upon  them.  The  suffering  to 
which  he  had  put  his  daughter  seemed 
to  be  the  crime  which  specially  af- 
fected him.  He  thanked  Heaven  he 
was  able  to  see  he  was  wrong.  He 
whispered  to  his  little  maid  a  prayer 
for  pardon  in  one  or  two  words,  which 
caused  poor  Charlotte  to  sink  on  her 
knees  and  cover  his  fevered  hand  with 
tears  and  kisses.  Out  of  all  her 
heart  she  forgave  him.  She  had  felt 
that  the  parent  she  loved  and  was 
accustomed  to  honor  had  been  mer- 
cenary and  cruel.  It  had  wounded 
her  pure  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think 
that  her  father  could  be  other  than 
generous,  and  just,  and  good.  That  i 
he  should  humble  himself  before  her 
smote  her  with  the  keenest  pang  of 
tender  commiseration.  I  do  not  care 
to  pursue  this  last  scene.  Let  us 
close  the  door  as  the  children  kneel 
by  the  sufferer's  bedside,  and  to  the 
old  man's  petition  for  forgiveness, 
and  to  the  young  girl's  sobbing  vows 
of  love  and  fondness,  say  a  reverent 
Amen. 

By  the  following  letter,  which  he 
wrote  a  few  days  before  the  fatal  ter- 
mination of  his  illness,  the  worthy 
General,  it  would  appear,  had  already 
despaired  of  his  recovery :  —  My  dear 
14* 


Mac,  —  I  speak  and  breathe  with  such 
difficulty  as  I  write  this  from  my  bed, 
that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  leave 
it.  I  do  not  wish  to  vex  poor  Eliza, 
and  in  my  state  cannot  evtcr  into  ais- 
putes  which  I  know  would  ensue 
regarding  settlement  of  property. 
When  I  left  England  there  Wiis  a 
ilaim  hanging  over  me  (yoimg  I'ir- 
min's)  at  which  I  was  needlessly 
frightened,  as  having  to  satisiy  it 
\\ould  swallow  up  much  more  'than 
everijthiug  I  possessed  in  the  world. 
Hence  made  arrangements  for  leaving 
everything  in  Eliza's  name  and  the 
children  after.  Will  with  Smith  and 
Thompson,  Raymond  Buildings, 
Gray's  Inn.  Think  Char  icon't  be 
hitppU  for  a  long  time  with  her  mother 
To  break  from  F.,  who  has  been 
most  generous  to  us,  will  break  her 
heart.  Will  you  and  Emily  keep  her 
for  a  little  ?  I  gave  F.  my  promise. 
As  you  told  me,  I  have  acted  ill  by 
him,  which  I  own  and  deeply  lament. 
If  Char  marries,  she  ought  to  have  her 
share.  May  God  bless  her,  her  father 
prays,  in  case  he  should  not  see  her 
again.  And  with  best  love  to  Emily, 
am  yours,  dear  Mac,  sincerely, — 
Chakles  Baynes. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  Char- 
lotte disobeyed  her  father's  wish,  and 
set  forth  from  Tours  instantly,  un- 
der her  worthy  uncle's  guardianship. 
The  old  soldier  was  in  his  comrade's 
room  when  the  General  put  the 
hands  of  Charlotte  and  her  lover 
together.  He  confessed  his  fault, 
though  it  is  hard  for  those  who  ex- 
pect love  and  reverence  to  have  to  own 
to  wrong  and  to  ask  pardon.  Old 
knees  are  stiff  to  bend  :  brother  reader, 
young  or  old,  when  our  last  hour 
comes,  may  ours  have  grace  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

RETURNS    TO    OLD    FRIENDS. 

The  three  old  comrades  and  Philip 
formed  the  little  mourning  procession 
U 


322 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


wliich  followed  the  General  to  his 
place  of  rest  at  Montmartre.  When 
the  service  has  been  read,  and  the  last 
volley  has  been  fired  over  the  buried 
soldier,  the  troops  march  to  quarters 
with  a  quick  step,  and  to  a  lively 
tune.  Our  veteran  has  been  laid  in 
the  grave  with  brief  ceremonies.  We 
do  not  even  prolong  his  obsequies 
witli  a  sermon.  His  place  knows  him 
no  longer.  There  are  a  few  who  re- 
member him  :  a  very,  very  few  who 
grieve  for  him,  —  so  few  that  to  think 
of  them  is  a  humiliation  almost. 
The  sun  sets  on  the  earth,  and  our 
dear  brother  has  departed  off  its  face. 
Stars  twinkle;  dews  fall;  children 
go  to  sleep  in  awe  and  maybe  tears ; 
the  sun  rises  on  a  new  day,  which  he 
has  never  seen,  and  children  wake 
hungry.  They  are  interested  about 
their  new  black  clothes,  perhaps. 
They  are  presently  at  their  work, 
plays,  quarrels.  I'hey  are  looking 
forward  to  the  day  when  the  holidays 
■will  be  over,  and  the  eyes  which  shone 
here  yesterday  so  kindly  are  gone, 
gone,  gone.  A  drive  to  the  cemetery, 
followed  by  a  coach  with  four  acquaint- 
ances dressed  in  decorous  black,  who 
separate  and  go  to  their  homes  or 
clubs,  and  wear  your  crape  for  a  few 
days  after,  —  can  most  of  us  expect 
much  more  ?  The  thought  is  not  en- 
nobling or  exhilarating,  worthy  sir. 
And,  pray,  why  should  we  be  proud  of 
ourselves  1  Is  it  because  we  have  been 
so  good,  or  are  so  wise  and  great,  that 
we  expect  to  be  beloved,  lamented,  re- 
membered ?  Why,  great  Xerxes  or 
blustering  Bobadil  must  know  in  that 
last  hour  and  resting-place  how  abject, 
how  small,  how  low,  how  lonely  they 
are,  and  what  a  little  dust  will  cover 
them.  Quick,  drums  and  fifes,  a 
lively  tune!  Whip  the  black  team, 
coachman,  and  trot  back  to  town 
again,  —  to  the  world,  and  to  busi- 
ness, and  duty ! 

I  am  for  saying  no  single  unkind- 
ness  of  General  Baynes  which  is  not 
forced  upon  me  by  my  story-teller's 
office.  We  know  from  Marlbor- 
ough's story  that  the  bravest  man 


and  greatest  military  genius  is  not 
always  brave  or  successful  in  his  bat- 
tles with  his  wife ;  that  some  of  the 
greatest  warriors  have  committed  er- 
rors in  accounts  and  the  distribution 
of  meum  and  tuum.  We  can't  dis- 
guise from  ourselves  the  fact  that 
Baynes  permitted  himself  to  be  mis- 
led, and  had  weaknesses  not  quite 
consistent  with  the  highest  virtue. 

When  he  became  aware  that  his 
carelessness  in  the  matter  of  Mrs. 
Firmin's  trust-money  had  placed  him 
in  her  son's  power,  we  have  seen  how 
the  old  General,  in  order  to  avoid  be- 
ing called  to  account,  fled  across  the 
water  with  his  family  and  all  his  lit- 
tle fortune,  and  how  terrified  he  was 
on  landing  on  a  foreign  shore  to  find 
himself  face  to  face  with  this  dread- 
ful creditor.  Philip's  renunciation  of 
all  claims  against  Baynes  soothed 
and  pleased  the  old  man  wonderfully. 
But  Philip  might  change  his  mind, 
an  adviser  at  Baynes's  side  repeatedly 
urged.  To  live  abroad  was  cheaper 
and  safer  than  to  live  at  home.  Ac- 
cordingly Baynes,  his  wife,  family, 
and  money,  all  went  into  exile,  and 
remained  there. 

What  savings  the  old  man  had  I 
don't  accurately  know.  He  and  his 
wife  were  very  dark  upon  this  subject 
with  Philip :  and  when  the  General 
died,  his  widow  declared  herself  to  be 
almost  a  pauper !  It  was  impossible 
that  Baynes  should  have  left  much 
money;  but  that  Charlotte's  share 
should  have  amounted  to  —  that  sum 
which  may  or  may  not  presently  be 
stated  —  was  a  little  too  absurd  !  You 
see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Firm  in  are  travel- 
ling abroad  just  now.  When  I  wrote 
to  Firmin,  to  ask  if  I  might  mention 
the  amount  of  his  wife's  fortune,  he 
gave  me  no  answer ;  nor  do  I  like  to 
enter  upon  these  matters  of  calcula- 
tion without  his  explicit  permission. 
He  is  of  a  hot  temper ;  he  might,  on 
his  return,  gro^y  angry  w  ith  the  friend 
of  his  youth,  and  say,  "  Sir,  how  dare 
you  to  talk  about  my  private  affairs  ? 
and  what  has  the  public  to  do  with 
Mrs.  Firmin's  private  fortune  ?  " 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


323 


When,  the  last  rites  over,  good- 
natured  uncle  Mac  proposed  to  take 
Charlotte  back  to  Tours  her  mother 
made  no  objection.  The  widow  had 
tried  to  do  the  girl  such  an  injury, 
that  perhaps  the  latter  felt  for- 
giveness was  impossible.  Little 
Char  loved  Philip  with  all  her  heart 
and  strength;  had  been  authorized 
and  encouraged  to  do  so,  as  we  have 
seen.  To  give  him  up  now,  because 
a  richer  suitor  presented  himself,  was 
an  act  of  treason  from  which  her  faith- 
ful heart  revolted,  and  she  never  could 
pardon  the  instigator.  You  see,  in 
this  simple  story,  I  scarcely  care  even 
to  have  reticence  or  secrets.  I  don't 
want  you  to  understand  for  a  moment 
that  Walsingham  Hely  was  still  cry- 
ing his  eyes  out  about  Charlotte. 
Goodness  bless  you  !  It  was  two  or 
three  weeks  ago,  —  four  or  five  weeks 
ago,  that  he  was  in  love  with  het- ! 
He  had  not  seen  the  Duchesse  d'lvry 
then,  about  whom  you  may  remember 
he  had  the  quarrel  with  Podichon,  at 
the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont. 
(He  and  the  Duchesse  wrote  poems  to 
each  other,  each  in  the  other's  native 
language.)     The  Charlotte  had  long 

?assed  out  of  the  young  fellow's  mind, 
'hat  butterfly  had  fluttered  off'  from 
our  English  rosebud,  and  had  settled 
on  the  other  elderly  flower  !  I  don't 
know  that  Mrs.  Baynes  was  aware  of 
young  Hely's  fickleness  at  this  present 
time  of  which  we  are  writing  ;  but  his 
visits  had  ceased,  and  she  was  angry 
and  disappointed ;  and  not  the  less 
angry  because  her  labor  had  been  in 
vain.  On  her  part,  Charlotte  could 
also  be  resolutely  unforgiving.  Take 
her  Philip  from  her  !  Never,  never ! 
Her  mother  force  her  to  give  up  the 
man  whom  she  had  been  encouraged 
to  love  ?  Mamma  should  have  de- 
fended Philip,  not  betrayed  him  !  If 
I  command  my  son  to  steal  a  spoon, 
shall  he  obey  me  !  And  if  he  do  obey 
and  steal,  and  be  transported,  will  he 
love  me  afterwards  ?  I  think  I  can 
hardly  ask  for  so  much  filial  affection. 
So  there  was  strife  between  mother 
and  daughter ;  and  anger  not  the  less 


bitter,  on  Mrs.  Baynes's  part,  because 
her  husband,  whose  cupidity  or  fear 
had,  at  first,  induced  him  to  take  her 
side,  had  deserted  her  and  gone  over 
to  her  daughter.  In  the  anger  of  that 
controvei'sy  Baynes  died,  leaving  the 
victory  and  right  with  Charlotte.  He 
shrank  from  his  wife :  would  not 
speak  to  her  in  his  last  moments. 
The  widow  had  these  injuries  against 
her  daughter  and  Philip :  and  thus 
neither  side  forgave  the  other.  She  was 
not  averse  to  the  child's  going  away 
to  her  uncle  :  put  a  lean,  hungry  face 
against  Charlotte's  lip,  and  received 
a  kiss  which  I  fear  had  but  little  love 
in  it.  I  don't  envy  those  children  who 
remain  under  the  widow's  lonely  com- 
mand ;  or  poor  Madame  Smolensk, 
who  has  to  endure  the  arrogance, 
the  grief,  the  avarice  of  that  grim  wo- 
man. Nor  did  madame  suffer  under 
this  tyranny  long.  Galignani's  Mes- 
senger very  soon  announced  that  she 
had  lodgings  to  let,  and  I  remember 
being  edified  by  reading  one  day  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  that  elegant 
apartments,  select  society,  and  an  ex- 
cellent table,  were  to  be  found  in  one 
of  the  most  airy  and  fashionable  quar- 
ters of  Paris.     Inquire  of  Madame  la 

Baronne    de    S sk,    Avenue    de 

Valmy,  Champs  Eiysees. 

We  guessed  without  difficulty  how 
this  advertisement  found  its  way  to 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  very  soon 
after  its  appearance  Madame  de 
Smolensk's  friend,  Mr.  Philip,  made 
his  appearance  at  our  tea-table  in 
London.  He  was  always  welcome 
amongst  us  elders  and  children.  He 
wore  a  crape  on  his  hat.  As  soon  as 
the  young  ones  were  gone,  you  may 
be  sure  he  poured  his  story  out ;  and 
enlarged  upon  the  death,  the  burial, 
the  quarrels,  the  loves,  the  partings 
we  have  narrated.  How  could  he  be 
put  in  a  way  to  earn  three  or  four 
hundred  a  year  1  That  was  the  pres- 
ent question.  Ere  he  came  to  see  us, 
he  had  already  been  totting  up  ways 
and  means.  He  had  been  with  our 
friend  Mrs.  Brandon  :  was  staying 
with  her.    The  Little  Sister  thought 


324 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


three  hundred  would  be  sufficient. 
They  could  have  her  second  floor,  — 
not  for  nothing;  no,  no,  but  at  a 
moderate  price,  which  would  pay  her. 
They  could  have  attics,  if  more  rooms 
were  needed.  They  could  have  lier 
kitchen  fire,  and  one  maid  for  the 
present  would  do  all  their  work.  Poor 
little  thing!  She  was  very  young. 
She  would  be  past  eighteen  by  the 
time  she  could  marry ;  the  Little 
Sister  was  for  early  marriages,  against 
long  courtships.  "  Heaven  helps  those 
ai  iieljjs  themselves,"  she  said.  And 
Mr.  Pliilip  thought  this  excellent  ad- 
vice, and  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  when 
asked  for  his  opinion,  — "  Candidly 
now,  what's  your  opinion  ?  "  —  said, 
"  Is  she  in  the  next  room  ?  Of 
course  you  mean  you  are  married  al- 
ready." 

Philip  roared  one  of  his  great 
laughs.  No,  he  was  not  married  al- 
ready. Had  he  not  said  that  Miss 
Baynes  was  gone  away  to  Tours  to 
her  aunt  and  uncle  1  But  that  he 
wanted  to  be  married;  but  that  he 
could  never  settle  down  to  work  till 
he  married ;  but  that  he  could  have 
no  rest,  peace,  health,  till  he  married 
that  angel,  he  was  ready  to  confess. 
Ready  f  AH  the  street  miglit  hear 
him  calling  out  the  name  and  ex- 
patiating on  the  angelic  charms  and 
goodness  of  his  Charlotte.  He  spoke 
so  loud  and  long  on  this  subject  that 
my  wife  grew  a  little  tired ;  and  my 
wife  always  likes  to  hear  other  women 
praised,  that  (she  says)  I  know  she 
does.  But  when  a  mangoes  on  roar- 
ing for  an  hour  about  Dulcinea  ?  You 
know  such  talk  becomes  fulsome  at 
last ;  and,  in  fine,  when  he  was  gone, 
my  wife  said,  "  Well,  he  is  very  much 
in  love;  so  were  you,  —  I  mean  long 
before  my  time,  sir ;  hut  does  love  pay 
the  housekeeping  bills,  pray  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear.  And  love  is  always 
controlled  by  other  people's  advice  : 
—  always,"  says  Philip's  friend ;  who, 
1  hope,  you  will  perceive  was  speak- 
ing ironicall}-. 

Philip's  friends  h.-ul  listened  not 
impatiently    to  Philip's    talk   about 


Philip.  Almost  all  women  will  give 
a  sympathizing  hearing  to  men  who 
are  in  love.  Be  they  ever  so  old, 
they  grow  young  again  with  that 
conversation,  and  renew  their  own 
early  times.  Men  are  not  quite 
so  generous  :  Tityrus  tires  of  hearing 
Cor V  don  discourse  endlessly  on  tho 
charms  of  his  shepherdess.  And  yet 
egotism  is  good  talk.  Even  dull 
biographies  are  pleasant  to  read  :  and 
if  to  read,  why  not  to  hear?  Had 
Master  Philip  not  been  such  an  egotist, 
he  would  not  have  been  so  pleasant 
a  companion.  Can't  you  like  a  man 
at  whom  you  laugh  a  little  1  I  had 
rather  such  an  open-mouthed  conver- 
sationist than  your  caiitious  jaws  that 
never  unlock  without  a  careful  applica- 
tion of  the  key.  As  for  the  entrance 
to  Mr.  Philip's  mind,  that  door  was 
always  open  when  he  was  awake,  or 
not  hungry,  or  in  a  friend's  company. 
Besides  his  love,  and  his  prospects  m 
life,  his  poverty,  &c.,  Philip  had  other 
favorite  topics  of  conversation.  His 
friend  the  Little  Sister  was  a  great 
theme  with  him  ;  his  father  was  an- 
other favorite  subject  of  his  talk.  By 
the  way,  his  father  had  written  to  the 
Little  Sister.  The  Doctor  said  he 
was  sure  to  prosper  in  his  newly 
adopted  country.  He  and  another 
physician  had  invented  a  new  medi- 
cine, which  was  to  effect  wonders, 
and  in  a  few  years  would  assuredly 
make  the  fortune  of  both  of  them. 
He  was  never  without  one  scheme  or 
another  for  making  that  fortune 
which  never  came.  Whenever  he 
drew  upon  Philip  for  little  sums,  his 
letters  were  sure  to  be  especially  mag- 
niloquent and  hopeful.  "  Whenever 
the  Doctor  says  he  has  invented  the 
philosopher's  stone,"  said  poor  Philip, 
"  I  am  sure  there  will  be  a  postscript 
to  say  that  a  little  bill  will  be  presented 
for  so  much,  at  so  many  days'  date." 
Had  he  drawn  on  Philip  lately? 
Philip  told  us  when,  and  bow  often. 
We  gave  him  all  the  benefit  of  our 
virtuons  indignation.  As  for  my 
wife's  eyes,  they  gleamed  with  anger. 
What  a  man  :  what  a  father !     O,  he 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


325 


iTu*  KicOjTjgible !  "  Yes,  I  am  afraid 
he  iri  "  says  poor  Phil,  comically, 
with  his  hands  roaming  at  ease  in  his 
pockets.  They  contained  little  else 
than  those  big  hands.  "  My  father 
is  of  a  hopeful  turn.  His  views  re- 
garding property  are  peculiar.  It  is 
a  comfort  to  have  such  a  distinguished 
parent,  is  n't  it  ?  I  am  always  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  he  is  not  married 
again.  I  sigh  for  a  mother-in-law," 
Philip  continued. 

"  O,  don't,  Philip  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Laura,  in  a  pet.  "  Be  generous  :  be 
forgiving  :  be  noble :  be  Christian  ! 
Don't  be  cynical,  and  imitating  — 
you  know  whom  !  " 

Whom  could  she  possibly  mean,  I 
wonder  ?  After  flashes  there  came 
showers  in  this  lady's  eyes.  From 
long  habit  I  can  understand  her 
thoughts,  although  she  does  not  utter 
them.  She  was  thinking  of  those 
poor,  noble,  simple,  friendless  young 
people ;  and  asking  Heaven's  protec- 
tion for  them.  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  over-praising  my  friends,  goodness 
knows.  The  foibles  of  this  one  I 
have  described  honestly  enough.  But 
if  I  write  down  here  that  he  was 
courageous,  cheerful  in  adversity, 
generous,  simple,  truth-loving,  above 
a  scheme,  —  after  having  said  that  he 
wa-i  a  noble  young  fellow,  —  dixi ; 
and  I  won't  cancel  the  words. 

Ardent  lover  as  he  was,  our  friend 
was  glad  to  be  back  in  the  midst  of 
the  London  smoke,  and  wealth,  and 
bustle.  The  fog  agreed  with  his 
lungs,  he  said.  He  breathed  more 
freely  in  our  great  city  than  in  that 
little  English  village  in  the  centre  of 
Paris  which  he  had  been  iniiahiting. 
In  his  hotel,  and  at  his  cafe  (where 
he  composed  his  eloquent  "own 
correspondence"),  he  had  occasion  to 
speak  a  little  French,  but  it  never 
came  very  trippingly  from  his  stout 
English  tongue.  "  You  don't  suppose 
I  would  like  to  be  taken  for  a  French- 
man," he  would  say,  with  much 
gravity.  I  wonder  who  ever  thought 
of  mistaking  friend  Philip  for  a 
frenchman  1 


As  for  that  faithful  Little  Sister, 
her  house  and  heart  were  still  at  the 
young  man's  service.  We  have  not 
visited  Thomhaugh  Street  for  some 
time  Mr.  Philip,  whom  we  have 
been  bound  to  attend,  has  been  too 
much  occupied  with  his  love-making 
to  bestow  much  thought  on  his  affec- 
tionate little  triend.  She  has  been 
trudging  meanwhile  on  her  humble 
course  of  life,  cheerful,  modest,  la- 
borious, doing  her  duty,  with  a  help- 
ing little  hand  ready  to  relieve  many 
a  fallen  wayfarer  o'n  her  road.  She 
had  a  room  vacant  in  her  house  when 
I'hilip  came  :  —  a  room,  indeed  ! 
Would  she  not  have  had  a  house  va- 
cant, if  Philip  wanted  it  ?  But  in  the 
interval  since  we  saw  her  last,  the 
Little  Sister,  too,  has  had  to  assume 
black  robes.  Her  father,  the  old  Cap- 
tain, has  gone  to  his  rest.  His  place  is 
vacant  in  the  little  parlor :  his  bed- 
room is  ready  for  Philip,  as  long  as 
Philip  will  stay.  She  did  not  ])rofess 
to  feel  much  affliction  for  the  loss  of 
the  captain.  She  talked  of  him  con- 
stantly as  though  he  were  present ; 
and  made  a  supper  for  Phili]j,  and 
seated  him  in  her  Pa's  chair.  How 
she  bustled  about  on  the  night  when 
Philip  arrived  !  What  a  beaming 
welcome  there  was  in  her  kind  eyes  ! 
Her  modest  hair  was  touched  with 
silver  now  ;  but  her  cheeks  were  like 
apples  ;  her  little  figure  was  neat,  and 
light,  and  active  :  and  her  voice,  with 
its  gentle  laugh,  and  little  sweet  bad 
grammar,  has  always  seemed  one  of 
the  sweetest  of  voices  to  me. 

Very  soon  after  Philip's  arrival  in 
London,  Mrs.  Brandon  paid  a  visit  to 
the  wife  of  Mr.  Firmin's  humble  ser- 
vant and  biographer,  and  the  two 
women  had  a  fine  sentimental  con- 
sultation. All  good  women,  you 
know,  are  sentimental.  The  idea  of 
young  lovers,  of  match-making,  of 
amiable  poverty,  tenderly  excites  and 
interests  them.  My  wife,  at  this 
time,  began  to  pour  off  fine  long  let- 
ters to  Miss  Baynes,  to  which  the 
latter  modestly  aiid  dutifully  replied, 
with  many  expressions  of  fervor  and 


326 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


gratitude  for  the  interest  which  her 
friend  in  London  was  pleased  to  take 
in  the  little  maid.     1  saw  by  these 
answers  that  Charlotte's  union  with 
Philip  was  taken  as  a  received  point 
by  these  two  ladies.     They  discussed 
the  ways  and  means.     They  did  not 
talk  about    broughams,   settlements, 
town  and  country  houses,  pin-moneys, 
trousseaux  :  and  my  wife,  in  compu^ 
ing  their  sources  of  income,  always 
pointed  out  that  Miss  Charlotte's  for- 
tune, though   certainly  small,  would 
give  a  very  useful   addition   to  the 
young     couple's     income.       "  Fifty 
pounds  a  ye^r  not  much !     Let  me 
tell  you,  sir.  that  fifty  pounds  a  year 
is  a  very  pretty  little  sum :    if  Philip 
can  but  make  three  hundred  a  year 
himself,    Mrs.    Brandon    says    they 
ought  to  be  able  to  live  quite  nicely." 
You  ask,  my  genteel  friend,  is  it  pos- 
sible that  people  can   live  for  four 
hundred  a  year  ?     How  do  they  man- 
age,  ces    jmuvres   gens?     They    eat, 
they  drink,  they  are  clothed,  they  are 
warmed,  they  have  roofs  over  their 
heads,  and  glass  in  their  windows; 
and  some  of  them  are  as  good,  happy, 
and  well-bred  as  their  neighbors  who 
are  ten  times  as  rich.     Then,  besides 
this  calculation  of  money,  there  is  the 
fond  woman's  firm  belief  that  the  day 
will  bring  its  daily  bread  for  those 
who  work  for  it  and  ask  for  it  in  the 
proper  quarter ;  against  which  reason-  \ 
ing  many  a  man  knows  it  is  in  vain  i 
to  argue.     As  to  my  own  little  ob- 
jections and  doubts,  my   wife    met  i 
them  by  reference  to  Philip's  former  j 
love-affair  with  his  cousin,  Miss  Twys- 1 
den.     "  You  had  no  objection  in  that  I 
case,  sir,"    this  logician  would  say. 
"  You  would  have  had   him  take  a 
creature  without  a  heart.     You  would  i 
cheerfully  have  seen  him  made  mis- 
erable for  life,  because  you  thought  ] 
there  was  money  enough  and  a  gen- 
teel   connection.        Money    indeed  !  j 
Very  happy  Mrs.  Woolcomb  is  with  ■ 
her  money.     Very  creditably  to  all  ■. 
sides  has  that  marria;re  turned  out !  "  j 
I  need  scarcely  remind  my  readers  of 
the  unfortunate  result  of  that  mar- ; 


riage.  "Woolcomb's  behavior  to  his 
wife  was  the  agreeable  talk  of  London 
society  and  of  the  London  clubs  very 
soon  after  the  pair  were  joined  to- 
gether in  holy  matrimony.  Do  we 
not  all  remember  how  Woolcomb  was 
accused  o.f  striking  his  wife,  of  starv- 
ing his  wife,  and  how  she  took  refuge 
at  home  and  came  to  her  father's 
house  with  a  black  eye?  The  two 
Twysdens  were  so  ashamed  of  this 
transaction,  that  father  and  son  left 
off  coming  to  "  Bays's,"  where  I 
never  heard  their  absence  regretted 
but  by  one  man,  who  said  that  Tal- 
bot owed  him  money  for  losses  at 
whist,  for  which  he  could  get  no 
settlement. 

Should  Mr.  Firmin  go  and  see  his 
aunt  in  her  misfortune  1  Bygones 
might  be  bj'gones,  some  of  Philip's 
advisers  thought.  Now  Mrs.  Twys- 
den  was  unhappy,  her  heart  might  re- 
lent to  Philip,  whom  she  certainly 
had  loved  as  a  boy.  Philip  had  the 
magnanimity  to  call  upon  her;  and 
found  her  carriage  waiting  at  the 
door.  But  a  servant,  after  keeping 
the  gentleman  waiting  in  the  dreary, 
well-remembered  hall,  brought  him 
word  that  his  mistress  was  out, 
smiled  in  his  face  with  an  engaging 
insolence,  and  proceeded  to  put 
cloaks,  court-guides,  and  other  female 
gear  into  the  carriage  in  the  presence 
of  this  poor  deserted  nephew.  This 
visit,  it  must  be  owned,  was  one  of 
Mrs.  Laura's  romantic  efforts  at  rec- 
onciling enemies  :  as  if,  my  good  crea- 
ture, the  Twysdens  ever  let  a  man 
into  their  house  who  was  poor  or  out 
of  fashion  !  They  lived  in  a  constant 
dread  lest  Philip  should  call  to  bor- 
row money  of  them.  As  if  they  ever 
lent  money  to  a  man  who  was  in 
need !  If  they  ask  the  respected  read- 
er to  their  house,  depend  upon  it  they 
think  he  is  well  to  do.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Twysdens  made  a  very 
handsome  entertainment  for  the  new 
Ijord  of  Whi])ham  and  Ringwood 
who  now  reigned  after  his  kinsman's 
death.  They  affably  went  and  passed 
Christmas  with  him  in  the  country ; 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


327 


■uid  they  cringed  and  bowed  before 
Sir  John  Ringwood  as  tliey  had 
bowed  and  cringed  before  the  earl  in 
his  time.  The  old  earl  had  been  a 
Tory  in  his  latter  days,  when  Talbot 
Twysden's  views  were  also  very  con- 
servative. The  present  Lord  of  Ring- 
Wood  was  a  Whig.  It  is  surprising 
how  liberal  the  Twysdens  grew  in 
the  course  of  a  fortnight's  after-din- 
ner conversation  and  pheasant-shoot- 
ing talk  at  Ringwood.  "  Hang  it ! 
you  know,"  young  Twysden  said,  in 
his  office  afterwards,  "  a  fellow  must 
go  with  the  politics  of  his  family,  you 
know ! "  and  he  bragged  about  the 
dinners,  wines,  splendors,  cooks,  and 
preserves  of  Ringwood  as  freely  as  in 
the  time  of  his  noble  grand-uncle. 
Any  one  who  has  kept  a  house-dog 
in  London,  which  licks  your  boots 
and  your  platter,  and  fawns  for  the 
bones  in  your  dish,  knows  how  the 
animal  barks  and  flies  at  the  poor 
who  come  to  the  door.  The  Twys- 
dens, father  and  son,  were  of  this  ca- 
nine species  :  and  there  are  vast  packs 
of  such  dogs  here  and  elsewhere. 

If  Philip  opened  his  heart  to  us, 
and  talked  unreservedly  regarding 
his  hopes  and  his  plans,  you  may  be 
sure  he  had  his  little  friend,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  also  in  his  confidence,  and 
that  no  person  in  the  world  was  more 
eager  to  ser\e  him.  Whilst  we  were 
talking  about  what  was  to  be  done, 
this  little  lady  was  also  at  work  in 
her  favorite's  behalf.  She  had  a  firm 
ally  in  Mrs.  Mugford,  the  proprie- 
tor's lady  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
Mrs.  Mugford  had  long  been  inter- 
ested in  rhilip,  his  misfortunes  and 
his  love-affairs.  These  two  good  wo- 
men had  made  a  sentimental  hero  of 
him.  Ah  !  that  they  could  devise  some 
feasible  scheme  to  help  him  !  And  such 
a  chance  actually  did  very  soon  pre- 
sent itself  to  these  deligiited  women. 

In  almost  all  the  pnpcrs  of  the  new 
year  appeared  a  brilliant  advertise- 
ment, announcing  the  speedy  ap- 
pearance in  ])ul)liu  of  a  new  paper. 
It  was  to  be  called  The  Shamrock, 
and  its  first  number  was  to  be  issued 


on  the  ensuing  St.  Patrick's  day. 
I  need  not  quote  at  length  the  adver- 
tisement which  heralded  the  advent 
of  this  new  periodical.  The  most 
famous  pens  of  the  national  party  in 
Ireland  were,  of  course,  engaged  to 
contribute  to  its  columns.  Those 
pens  would  be  hammered  into  steel 
of  a  different  shape  when  the  oppor- 
tunity should  offer.  Beloved  prel- 
ates, authors  of  world-wide  fame, 
bards,  the  bold  strings  of  whose  lyres 
had  rung  through  the  isle  already, 
and  made  millions  of  noble  hearts  to 
beat,  and,  by  consequence,  double 
the  number  of  eyes  to  fill  ;  philoso- 
phers, renowned  for  science;  and 
illustrious  advocates,  whose  manly 
voices  had  ever  spoken  the  language 
of  hope  and  freedom  to  an,  &c.,  &c., 
would  be  found  rallying  round  the 
journal,  and  ])roud  to  wear  the  sym- 
bol of  The  Shamrock.  Finally, 
Michael  Cassidy,  Esq.,  was  chosen  to 
be  the  editor  of  this  new  journal. 

This  was  the  M.  Cassidy,  Esq  ,  who 
appeared,  I  think,  at  Mr.  Firmin's 
call-supper ;  and  who  had  long  been 
the  sub-editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
If  Michael  went  to  Dame  Street,  why 
should  not  Philip  be  sub-editor  at 
Pall  Mall?  Mrs.  Brandon  argued.  Of 
course  there  would  be  a  score  of  can- 
didates for  Michael's  office.  The  ed- 
itor would  like  the  patronage.  Bar- 
net,  Mugford's  partner  in  the  Gazette, 
would  wish  to  appoint  his  man.  Cas- 
sidy, before  retiring,  would  assuredly 
intimate  his  approaching  resignation 
to  scores  of  gentlemen  of  his  nation, 
who  would  not  object  to  take  the 
Saxon's  pay  until  they  finally  sliook 
his  yoke  off',  and  would  eat  his  bread 
until  the  hai)])y  moment  arrived  when 
they  could  knock  out  his  brains  in 
fair  battle.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Brandon 
heard  of  the  vacant  place,  that  mo- 
ment she  determined  that  Philip 
should  have  it.  It  was  surprising 
what  a  quantity  of  information  our 
little  friend  possessed  about  artists, 
and  pres.s-men,  and  their  lives,  fami- 
lies, ways  and  means.  Many  gentle- 
men of  both  professions  came  to  Mr. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Ridley's  chambers,  and  called  on  the 
Little  Sister  on  their  way  to  and 
fro.  How  Tom  Smith  had  left  the 
Herald,  and  gone  to  the  Post ;  what 
price  Jack  Jones  had  for  his  picture, 
and  who  sat  for  the  principal  fi^jures. 
—  I  promise  you  Madam  Brandon 
had  all  these  interesting  details  by 
heart ;  and  I  think  I  have  described 
this  little  person  very  inadequately  if 
I  have  not  made  you  understand  that 
she  was  as  intrepid  a  little  joTiber  as 
ever  lived,  and  never  scrupled  to  go 
any  length  to  serve  a  friend.  To  be 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  be 
])rofessor  of  Hebrew,  to  be  teacher  of 
a  dancing-school,  to  be  organist  for  a 
church  :  for  any  conceivable  place  or 
function  this  little  person  would  have 
asserted  Philip's  capability.  "  Don't 
tt^ll  me !  He  can  dance  or  preach  (as 
the  case  may  be),  or  write  beautiful ! 
And  as  for  being  unfit  to  be  a  sub- 
vditor,  I  want  to  know,  has  he  not  as 
good  a  head  and  as  good  an  educa- 
tion as  that  Cassidy,  indeed  1  And 
is  not  Cambridge  College  the  best 
college  in  the  world  ?  It  is,  I  say. 
And  he  went  there  ever  so  long.  And 
he  might  have  taken  the  very  best 
prize,  only  money  was  no  object  to 
him  then,  dear  fellow,  and  he  did  not 
like  to  keep  the  poor  out  of  what  he 
did  n't  want !  " 

Mrs.  Mugford  had  always  consid- 
ered the  young  man  as  very  haughty, 
but  quite  the  gentleman,  and  speedily 
was  infected  by  her  gossip's  enthusi- 
asm about  him.  My  wife  hired  a  fly, 
packed  several  of  the  children  into  it, 
called  upon  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  chose 
to  be  delighted  with  that  lady's  gar- 
den, with  that  lady's  nursery,  —  with 
everything  that  bore  the  name  of 
Mugford.  It  was  a  curiosity  to  re- 
mark in  what  a  flurry  of  excitement 
these  women  plunged,  and  how  they 
schemed,  and  coaxed  and  caballed,  in 
order  to  get  this  place  for  their  pro- 
tege'. My  wife  thought  —  she  mere- 
ly happened  to  surmise :  nothing 
more,  of  course  —  that  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's  fond  diKiire  was  to  shine  in  the 
world.      "Could  we    not  ask   some 


people  —  with  —  with  what  you  call 
handles  to  their  names,  —  I  think  I 
before  heard  you  use  some  such  term, 
sir  —  to  meet  the  Mugfords  1  Some 
of  Philip's  old  friends,  who  I  am  sure 
would  be  very  happy  to  serve  him." 
Some  such  artifice  was,  I  own,  prac- 
tised. We  coaxed,  cajoled,  fondled 
the  Mugfords  for  Philip's  sake,  and 
Heaven  forgive  Mrs.  Laura  her 
hypocrisy.  We  had  an  entertainment 
then,  I  own.  We  asked  our  finest 
company,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford to  meet  them :  and  we  prayed 
that  unlucky  Philip  to  be  on  his  best 
behavior  to  all  persons  who  were  in- 
vited to  the  feast. 

Before  my  wife  this  lion  of  a  Fir- 
min  was  as  a  lamb.  Rough,  captious, 
and  overbearing  in  general  society, 
with  those  whom  he  loved  and  es- 
teemed Philip  wiis  of  all  men  the 
most  modest  and  humble.  He  would 
never  tire  of  playing  with  our  chil- 
dren, joining  in  their  games,  laugh- 
ing and  roaring  at  their  little  sports. 
I  have  never  had  such  a  laugher  at 
my  jokes  as  Philip  Firmin.  I  think 
my  wife  liked  him  for  that  noble  gufftvw 
with  which  he  used  to  salute  those 
pieces  of  wit.  He  arrived  a  little  late 
sometimes  with  his  laughing  chorus, 
but  ten  people  at  table  were  not 
so  loud  as  this  faithful  friend.  On 
the  contrary,  when  those  people  for 
whom  he  has  no  liking  venture  on 
a  pun  or  other  pleasanirv,  I  am  bound 
to  own  that  Philip's  acknowledgment 
of  their  waggery  must  be  anything 
but  pleasant  or  flattering  to  them. 
Now,  on  occasion  of  this  important 
dinner,  I  enjoined  him  to  be  very 
kind,  and  very  civil,  and  very  much 
pleased  with  everybody,  and  to  stamp 
upon  nobody's  corns,  as,  indeed,  why 
should  he,  in  life  1  Who  was  he  to 
he  censor  morum?  And  it  has  been 
said  that  no  man  could  admit  bis 
own  faults  with  a  more  engaging 
candor  than  our  friend. 

We  invited,  then,  Mugford,  the 
proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
and  his  wife  ;  and  Bickerton,  the  edit- 
or of  that  periodical ;  Lord  Egham, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


329 


Philip's  old  College  friend  ;  and  one 
or  two  more  frentlemcn.  Our  invita- 
tions to  the  ladies  were  not  so  fortii- 
liate.  Some  were  cngaj^cd,  others 
away  in  the  country  kee])ing  Christ- 
mas. In  fine,  we  considered  ourselves 
rather  lucky  in  securing  old  Lady 
Hixie,  who  lives  hard  by  in  West- 
minster, and  who  will  pass  for  a  lady 
of  fashion  when  no  person  of  greater 
note  is  present.  My  wife  told  her 
that  the  object  of  the  dinner  was 
to  make  our  friend  Firmin  acquainted 
with  the  editor  and  proprietor  of  the 
Pull  Mall  Gazette,  with  whom  it  was 
important  that  he  should  be  on  the 
most  amicable  footing.  Oh !  very 
well.  Lady  Hixie  promised  to  be 
quite  gracious  to  the  newspaper 
gentleman  and  his  wife ;  and  kept  her 
promise  most  graciously  during  the 
evening.  Our  good  friend  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  the  first  of  our  guests 
to  arrive.  She  drove  "  in  her  trap" 
from  her  villa  in  the  suburbs;  and 
after  putting  up  his  carriage  at  a 
neighboring  livery-stable,  her  groom 
volunteered  to  help  our  servants  in 
waiting  at  dinner.  His  zeal  and 
activity  were  remarkable.  China 
smashed,  and  dish-covers  clanged  in 
the  passage.  Mrs.  Mugford  said  that 
"  Sam  was  at  his  old  tricks  "  ;  and  I 
hope  the  hostess  showed  she  was 
mistress  of  herself  amidst  that  fall  of 
china.  Mrs.  Mugford  came  before 
the  appointed  hour,  she  said,  in  order 
to  see  our  children.  "  With  our  late 
London  dinner-hours,"  she  remarked, 
"  children  was  never  seen  now.  At 
Hampstead,  hers  always  appeared  at 
tiie  dessert,  and  enlivened  the  table 
with  their  innocentoutcries  for  oranges 
and  struggles  for  sweetmeats.  In  the 
nursery,  where  one  little  maid,  in  her 
crisp  long  nightgown,  was  saying 
her  prayers ;  where  another  little 
person,  in  the  most  airy  costume,  was 
standing  before  the  great  barred  fire  ; 
where  a  third  Liliputian  was  sitting 
up  in  its  nightcap  and  surplice, 
surveying  the  scene  below  from  its 
crib  ;  —  the  ladies  found  our  dear 
Little     Sister     installed.     She    had 


coive  to  see  her  little  pets  (she  had 
known  two  or  tliree  of  them  from  the 
very  earliest  times).  She  was  a  great 
favorite  amongst  them  all;  and,  I 
believe,  cons])iied  with  the  cook  down 
below  in  preparing  certain  delicacies 
for  the  table.  A  fine  conversation 
then  ensued  about  our  children,  about 
the  Mugford  children,  about  babies 
in  general.  And  then  the  artful 
women  (the  house  mistress  and  the 
Little  Sister)  brought  Philip  on  the 
iai)ls,  and  discoursed,  a  qui  mievx, 
about  his  virtues,  his  misfortunes,  his 
engagement,  and  that  dear  little 
creature  to  whom  he  was  betrothed. 
This  conversation  went  on  until 
carriage-wheels  were  heard  in  the 
square,  and  the  knocker  (there  were 
actually  knockers  in  that  old-fash- 
ioned place  and  time)  began  to  peal. 
"  O,  bother  !  There  's  the  company 
a-comin',"  Mrs.  Mugford  said ;  and 
arranging  her  cap  and  flounces,  with 
neat-iianded  Mrs.  Brandon's  aid, 
came  down  stairs,  after  taking  a  tender 
leave  of  the  little  people,  to  whom 
she  sent  a  present  next  day  of  a  pile 
of  fine  Christmas  books,  which  had 
come  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  for 
review.  The  kind  woman  had  been 
coaxed,  wheedled,  and  won  over  to 
our  side,  to  Philip's  side.  He  had  her 
vote  for  the  sub-editorship,  whatever 
might  ensue. 

Most  of  our  guests  had  already  ar- 
rived, when  at  length  Mrs.  Mugford 
was  announced.  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  she  presented  a  remarkable  ap- 
pearance, and  that  the  splendor  of 
her  attire  was  such  as  is  seldom  be- 
held. 

Bickerton  and  Philip  were  pre- 
sented to  one  another,  and  had  a  talk 
about  French  politics  before  dinner, 
during  which  conversation  Philip  be- 
haved with  perfect  discretion  and  po- 
liteness. Bickerton  had  happened  to 
hear  Philip's  letters  well  spoken  of, 
—  in  a  good  quarter,  mind  ;  and  his 
cordiality  increased  when  Lord  Eg- 
ham  entered,  called  Philip  by  his 
surname,  and  entered  into  a  perfectly 
free    conversation   with    him.      Old 


330 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Lady  Hixie  went  into  perfectly  good 
society,  Bickerton  condescended  to  ac- 
knowledge. "  As  for  Mrs.  Mugford," 
says  he,  with  a  glance  of  wondering 
compassion  at  that  lady,  "  of  course 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  she  is  seen 
nowhere,  —  nowhere."  This  said, 
Mr.  Bickerton  stepped  forward,  and 
calmly  patronized  my  wife,  gave  me 
a  good-natured  nod  for  my  own  part, 
reminded  Lord  Egham  that  he  had 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  at 
Egham ;  and  then  fixed  on  Tom 
Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter  Office 
(who,  I  own,  is  one  of  our  most  gen- 
teel guests),  with  whom  he  entered 
into  a  discussion  of  some  political 
matter  of  that  day,  —  I  forget  what : 
but  the  main  point  was  that  he 
named  two  or  three  leading  public 
men  with  whom  he  had  discussed  the 
question,  whatever  it  might  be.  He 
named  very  great  names,  and  led  us 
to  understand  that  with  the  proprie- 
tors of  those  very  great  names  he  was 
on  the  most  intimate  and  confidential 
footing.  With  his  owners,  —  with 
the  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Ga- 
zette, he  was  on  the  most  distant 
terms,  and  indeed  I  am  afraid  that 
his  behavior  to  myself  and  my  wife 
was  scarcely  respectful.  I  fancied  I 
saw  Philip's  brow  gathering  wrinkles 
as  his  eye  followed  this  man  strutting 
from  one  person  to  another,  and 
patronizing  each.  The  dinner  was  a 
little  late,  from  some  reason  best 
known  in  the  lower  regions.  "  I 
take  it,"  says  Bickerton,  winking  at 
Philip,  in  a  pause  of  the  conversation, 
"  that  our  good  friend  and  host  is  not 
much  used  to  giving  dinners.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  is  evidently  in  a 
state  of  perturbation."  Philip  gave 
such  a  horrible  grimace  that  the 
other  at  first  thought  he  was  in 
pain. 

"  You,  who  have  lived  a  great  deal 
with  old  Ringwood,  know  what  a 
good  dinner  is,"  Bickerton  continued, 
giving  Firmin  a  knowing  look. 

"  Any  dinner  is  good  which  is  ac- 
companied with  such  a  welcome  as  I 
get  here,"  said  Philip. 


"  Oh  !  very  good  people,  very  good 
people,  of  course ! "  cries  Bicker- 
ton. 

I  need  not  say  he  thinks  he  has 
perfectly  succeeded  in  adopting  the 
air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  went 
off  to  Lady  Hixie  and  talked  with  her 
about  the  last  great  party  at  which 
he  had  met  her ;  and  then  he  turned 
to  the  host,  and  remarked  that  my 
friend,  the  Doctor's  son,  was  a  fierce- 
looking  fellow.  In  five  minutes  he 
had  the  good  fortune  to  make  him- 
self hated  by  Mr.  Firmin.  He  walks 
through  the  world  patronizing  his 
betters.  "  Our  good  friend  is  not 
much  used  to  giving  dinners,"  —  is 
n't  he  ?  I  say,  what  do  you  mean  by 
continuing  to  endure  this  man  ?  Tom 
Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter  Office, 
is  a  well-known  diner-out ;  Lord 
Egham  is  a  peer  ;  Bickerton,  in  a 
pretty  loud  voice,  talked  to  one  or 
other  of  these  during  dinner  and 
across  the  table.  He  sat  next  to  Mrs. 
Mugford,  but  he  turned  his  back  on 
that  bewildered  woman,  and  never 
condescended  to  address  a  word  to 
her  personally.  "  Of  course,  I  under- 
stand you,  my  dear  fellow,"  ]ig  said 
to  me  when,  on  the  retreat  of  the  la- 
dies, we  approached  within  whisper- 
ing distance.  "  You  have  these  peo- 
?le  at  dinner  for  reasons  of  state, 
ou  have  a  book  coming  out,  and 
want  to  have  it  noticed  in  the  paper. 
I  make  a  point  of  keeping  these  peo- 
ple at  a  distance,  —  the  only  way 
of  dealing  with  them,  I  give  you  my 
word." 

Not  one  offensive  word  had  Philip 
said  to  the  chief  writer  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette;  and  I  began  to  con- 
gratulate myself  that  our  dinner 
would  pass  without  any  mishap, 
when  some  one  unluckily  happening 
to  praise  the  wine,  a  fresh  supply 
was  ordered.  "  Very  good  claret. 
Who  is  your  wine-merchant  ?  Upon 
my  word,  I  get  better  claret  here 
than  I  do  in  Paris,  —  don't  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Fermor  ?  Where  do  you  gen- 
erally dine  at  Paris "?  " 

"  i  generally  dine  for  thirty  sous. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


331 


and  three  francs  on  grand  days,  Mr. 
Beckerton,  "  growls  Philip. 

"  My  name  is  Bickcrton.  "  (What 
a  vulgar  thing  for  a  fellow  to  talk 
about  his  thirty-sous  dinners  !  "  mur- 
mured my  neighbor  to  me.)  "  Well, 
there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes ! 
When  I  go  to  Paris,  I  dine  at  the 
'  Trois  Freres. '  Give  me  the  Bur- 
gundy at  '  Trois  Freres. '  " 

"  That  is  because  you  great  leader- 
writers  are  paid  better  than  poor 
correspondents.  I  shall  he  delighted 
to  be  able  to  dine  better. "  And 
with  this  Mr.  Firmin  smiles  at  Mr. 
Mugford,  his  master  and  owner. 

"  Nothing  /."SO  vulgar  as  talking 
shop, "  says    Bickerton,  rather  loud. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  shop 
I  keep.  Are  you  of  yours,  Mr. 
Bickerton  ?  "  growls  Philip. 

"  F.  had  him  there, "  says  Mr. 
Mugford. 

Mr.  Bickerton  got  up  from  table, 
turning  quite  pale.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  be  offensive,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Offensive,  sir  1  No,  sir.  Some 
men  are  offensive  without  meaning  it. 
You  have  been  several  times  to- 
night !  "  says  Lord  Philip. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  upon 
to  bear  this  kind  of  thing  at  any  man's 
table !  "  cried  Mr.  Bickerton.  "  Lord 
Egham,  I  wish  you  good  night ! " 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  what 's  the  row 
about  ?  "  asked  his  Lordship.  And 
wc  were  all  astonished  as  my  guest 
rose  and  left  the  table  in  great  wrath. 

"  Sen'e  him  right,  Firmin,  I  say !  " 
said  Mr.  Mugford,  again  drinking  off 
a  glass. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  says 
Tom  Page.  "  His  father  keeps  a 
haberdasher's  shop  at  Cambridge, 
and  sent  him  to  Oxford,  where  he 
took  a  good  desrree." 

And  this  had  come  of  a  dinner  of 
conciliation, —  a  dinner  which  was  to 
advance  Philip's  interest  in  life ! 

"  Hit  him  again,  I  say, "  cried 
Mugford,  whom  wine  had  rendered 
eloquent.  "  He 's  a  supercilious  beast 
that  Bickerton  is,  and  I  hate  him, 
«nd  so  does  Mrs.  M." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

NARRATES   THAT  FAMOUS  JOKE 
ABOUT  MISS  GRIGSBY. 

For  once  Philip  found  that  he  had 
;  offended  without  giving  general  of- 
;  fence.  In  the  confidence  of  female 
intercourse,  Mrs.  Mugford  had  al- 
:  ready,  in  her  own  artless  but  power- 
[  ful  language,  contirmed  her  husband's 
statement  regarding  Mr.  Bickerton, 
and  declared  that  B.  Avas  a  beast,  and 
she  was  only  sorry  that  Mr.  F.  had 
not  hit  him  a  little  harder.  So  differ- 
ent are  the  opinions  which  different 
individuals  entertain  of  the  same 
event !  I  happen  to  know  that  Bick- 
j  erton,  on  his  side,  went  away,  aver- 
ring that  we  were  quarrelsome,  un- 
der-bred people ;  and  that  a  man  of 
j  any  refinement  had  best  avoid  that 
!  kind  of  society.  He  does  really  and 
seriously  believe  himself  our  superior, 
and  will  lecture  almost  any  gentle- 
man on  the  art  of  being  one.  This 
assurance  is  not  at  all  uncommon 
with  your  parvenu.  Proud  of  his 
newly  acquired  knowledge  of  the  art 
of  exhausting  the  contents  of  an  egg, 
the  well-known  little  boy  of  the  apo- 
logue rushed  to  impart  his  knowledge 
to  his  grandmother,  who  had  been  for 
many  years  familiar  with  the  process 
which  the  child  had  just  discovered. 
Which  of  ns  has  not  met  with  some 
such  instructors  '?  I  know  men  who 
would  l)e  ready  to  step  forward  and 
teach  Taglioni  how  to  dance,  Tom 
Sayers  how  to  box,  or  the  Chevalier 
Bayard  how  to  be  a  gentleman.  We 
most  of  us  know  such  men,  and  un- 
dergo, from  time  to  time,  the  ineffable 
benefit  of  their  patronage. 

Mugford  went  away  from  our  little 
entertainment  vowing,  by  George, 
that  Philip  should  n't  want  for  a 
friend  at  the  proper  season  ;  and  this 
proper  season  very  speedily  arrived. 
I  laughed  one  day,  on  going  to  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette  office,  to  find  Philip 
installed  in  the  sub-editor's  room, 
with  a  provision  of  scissors,  wafers, 
and  paste-pots,  snipping  paragraphs 
from  this  paper  and  that,  altering, 


382 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


condensing,  giving  titles,  and  so 
fortli ;  and,  in  a  word,  in  regular  har- 
ness. The  three-headed  calves,  the 
great  prize  gooseberries,  the  old 
maiden  ladies  of  wonderful  ages  who 
at  length  died  in  country  places,  —  it 
was  wonderful  (considering  his  little 
experience)  how  Firmin  hunted  out 
these.  He  entered  into  all  the  spirit 
of  his  business.  He  prided  himself 
on  the  clever  titles  which  he  found 
for  his  paragraphs.  "When  his  paper 
was  completed  at  the  week's  end,  he 
surveyed  it  fondly, —  not  the  leading 
articles,  or  those  profound  and  yet 
brilliant  literary  essays  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Gazette,  —  but  the 
births,  deaths,  marriages,  markets, 
trials,  and  what  not.  As  a  shop-boy, 
having  decorated  his  master's  win- 
dow, goes  into  the  street,  and  pleased 
surveys  his  work  ;  so  the  fair  face  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  rejoiced  Mr. 
Firmin,  and  Mr.  Bince,  the  printer 
of  the  paper.  They  looked  with  an 
honest  pride  upon  the  result  of  their 
joint  labors.  Nor  did  Firmin  relish 
pleasantry  on  the  subject.  Did  his 
friends  allude  to  it,  and  ask  if  he  had 
shot  any  especially  fine  canard  that 
week  ?  Mr.  Philip  s  brow  would  cor- 
rugate and  his  cheeks  redden.  He 
did  not  like  jokes  to  be  made  at 
his  expense :  was  not  his  a  singular 
antipathy "? 

In  his  capacity  of  sub-editor,  the 
good  fellow  had  the  privilege  of  tak- 
ing and  giving  away  countless  theatre 
orders,  and  panorama  and  diorama 
tickets :  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  was 
not  above  accepting  such  little  bribes 
in  those  days,  and  Mrs.  Mugford's 
familiarity  with  the  names  of  opera 
singers,  and  splendid  appearance  in 
an  opera-box,  was  quite  remarkable. 
Friend  Philip  would  bear  away  a  heap 
of  these  cards  of  admission,  delighted 
to  carry  off  our  young  folks  to  one 
exhibition  or  another.  But  once  at 
the  diorama,  where  our  young  people 
sat  in  the  darkness,  very  much  fright- 
ened as  usual,  a  voice  from  out  the 
midnight  gloom  cried  out :  "  Who  has 
come  in  wUk  orders  frmn  the  Pall  Mall 


Gazette  ?"  A  lady,  two  scared  chil- 
dren, and  Mr.  Sub-editor  Philip,  all 
trembled  at  this  dreadful  summons. 
I  think  I  should  not  dare  to  print  the 
story  even  now,  did  I  not  know  that 
Mr.  Firmin  was  travelling  abroad. 
It  was  a  blessing  the  place  was  dark, 
so  that  none  could  see  the  poor  sub- 
editor's blushes.  Rather  than  cause 
any  mortification  to  this  lady,  I  am 
sure  Philip  would  have  submitted  to 
rack  and  torture.  But,  indeed,  her 
annoyance  was  very  slight,  except  in 
seeing  her  friend  annoyed.  The  hu- 
mor of  the  scene  surpassed  the  annoy- 
ance in  the  lady's  mind,  and  caused 
her  to  laugh  at  the  mishap ;  but  I 
own  our  little  lx)y  (who  is  of  an  aris- 
tocratic turn,  and  rather  too  sensitive 
to  ridicule  from  his  school -fellows) 
was  not  at  all  anxious  to  talk  upon 
the  subject,  or  to  let  the  world  know 
that  he  went  to  a  place  of  public 
amusement  "  with  an  order." 

As  for  Philip's  landlady,  the  Little 
Sister,  she,  you  know,  had  been  famil- 
iar with  the  press,  and  pressmen,  and 
orders  for  the  play  for  years  past. 
She  looked  quite  young  and  pretty, 
with  her  kind  smiling  face  and  neat 
tight  black  dress,  as  she  came  to  the 
theatre — it  was  to  an  Easter  piece  — 
on  Philip's  arm  one  evening.  Our 
children  saw  her  from  their  cab,  as 
they,  too,  were  driving  to  the  same 
performance.  It  was,  "  Look,  mam- 
ma !  There  's  Philip  and  the  Little 
Sister !  "  And  then  came  such  smiles, 
and  nods,  and  delighted  recognitions 
from  the  cab  to  the  two  friends  on 
foot !  Of  course  I  have  forgotten 
what  was  the  piece  which  wc  all  saw  on 
that  Easter  evening.  But  those  chil- 
dren will  never  forget ;  no,  though  they 
live  to  be  a  hundrctl  years  old,  and 
though  their  attention  was  distracted 
from  the  piece  by  constant  observation 
of  Philip  and  his  companion  in  the 
public  boxes  opposite. 

Mr.  Firmin's  work  and  pay  were 
both  light,  and  he  accepted  both  very 
cheorfully.  He  saved  money  out  of 
his  little  stipend.  It  was  surprising 
how  economically  he  could  live  with 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


333 


his  little  landlady's  aid  and  counsel. 
He  would  conic  to  ns,  rccountini;  his 
feats  ot  parsimony  with  a  chiUlish  dc- 
lif^ht ;  he  loved  to  contemplate  his 
sovereigns,  as  week  by  week  tlie  little 
pile  accumulated.  He  kept  a  sharj) 
eye  upon  sales,  and  purchased  now 
and  again  articles  of  furniture.  In 
this  way  he  brought  home  a  piano  to 
his  lodgings,  on  which  he  could  no 
more  play  than  he  could  on  the  tight- 
rope ;  but  he  was  given  to  understand 
that  it  was  a  very  fine  instrument ; 
and  my  wife  played  on  it  one  day 
when  we  went  to  visit  him,  and  he  sat 
listening,  with  his  great  hands  on  his 
knees,  in  ecstasies.  He  was  thinking 
how  one  day,  please  Heaven,  he 
should  see  other  hands  touching  the 
keys,  —  and  player  and  instrument 
disappeared  in  a  mist  before  his  hap- 
py eyes.  His  purchases  were  not  al- 
ways lucky.  For  example,  he  was 
sadly  taken  in  at  an  auction  about  a 
little  pearl  ornament.  Some  artful 
Hebrews  at  the  sale  conspired  and 
"  ran  him  up,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  a 
price  more  than  equal  to  the  value  of 
the  trinket.  "  But  you  know  who  it 
was  for,  ma'am,"  one  of  Philip's  apolo- 
gists said.  "  If  she  would  like  to 
wear  his  ten  fingers  he  would  cut  'em 
off  and  send  'em  to  her.  But  he 
keeps  'em  to  write  her  letters  and 
verses,  —  and  most  beautiful  they  are 
too." 

"And  the  dear  fellow,  who  was 
bred  up  in  splendor  and  luxury,  Mrs. 
Mugford,  as  you,  ma'am,  know  too 
well,  —  he  won't  drink  no  wine  now. 
A  little  whiskey  and  a  glass  of  beer 
is  all  he  takes.  And  his  clothes  — 
he  who  used  to  be  so  grand  —  you  see 
how  he  is  now,  ma'am.  Always  the 
gentleman,  and,  indeed,  a  finer  or 
grander  looking  gentleman  never  en- 
tered a  room  ;  but  he  is  saving,  —  you 
know  for  what,  ma'am." 

And  indeed,  Mrs.  Mugford  did 
know ;  and  so  did  Mrs.  Pendennis 
and  Mrs.  Brandon.  And  these  three 
women  worked  themselves  into  a  per- 
fect fever,  interesting  themselves  for 
Mr.  Firmin.     And  Mugford,  in  his 


roiiiih,  funny  way,  used  to  say,  "Mr. 
v..  a  certain  Mr.  Heft'  has  come  and 
j)Ut  uur  noses  out  of  joint.  He  has, 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Hem.  And  I 
am  getting  (|uite  jealous  of  our  sub- 
editor, and  that  is  the  long  and  short 
of  it.  But  it  's  good  to  see  him  liaw- 
haw  Biekerton  if  ever  they  meet  in 
the  office,  that  it  is  !  Biekerton  won't 
bully  him  any  more,  I  promise  you  !  " 

The  conclaves  and  conspiracies  of 
these  women  were  endless  in  Philip's 
behalf  One  day,  I  let  the  Little  Sis- 
ter out  of  my  liouse  with  a  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes,  and  in  a  great  state 
of  flurry  and  excitement,  which  per- 
haps communicates  itself  to  the  gen- 
tleman who  passes  her  at  his  own 
door.  The  gentleman's  wife  is,  on 
her  part,  not  a  little  moved  and  ex- 
cited. "  What  do  you  think  Mrs. 
Brandon  says  ?  Philip  is  learning 
short-hand.  He  says  he  does  not  think 
he  is  clever  enough  to  be  a  writer  of 
any  mark  ; —  but  he  can  be  a  rejjort- 
er,  and  with  this,  and  his  place  at 
Mr.  Mugford's,  he  thinks  he  can  earn 
enough  to  —  0,  he  is  a  fine  fellow  ! " 
I  suppose  feminine  emotion  stopjicd 
the  completion  of  this  speech.  But 
when  Mr.  Philip  slouched  in  to  din- 
ner that  day,  his  hostess  did  homage 
before  him ;  she  loved  him ;  she  treat- 
ed him  with  a  tender  respect  and  sym- 
pathy which  her  like  are  ever  wont  to 
bestow  upon  brave  and  honest  men  in 
misfortune. 

Why  should  not  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min, barrister-at-law,  bethink  him  that 
he  belonged  to  a  profession  which 
has  helped  very  many  men  to  com- 
petence, and  not  a  few  to  wealth  and 
honors  ?  A  barrister  might  surely 
hope  for  as  good  earnings  as  could 
be  made  by  a  newspaper  reporter. 
We  all  know  instances  of  men  who, 
having  commenced  their  careers  as 
writers  for  the  press,  had  carried  oi) 
the  legal  profession  simultaneously 
and  attained  the  greatest  honors  of 
the  bar  and  the  bench.  "  Can  I  sit 
in  a  Pump  Court  garret  Avaiting  for 
attorneys  ?  "  asked  poor  Phil ;  "  I 
shall    break   my    heart  before    they 


334 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


come.  My  brains  are  not  worth 
much  :  I  should  addle  them  altogeth- 
er in  poring  over  law  books.  I  am 
not  at  all  a  clever  fellow,  you  see ;  and 
I  have  n't  the  ambition  and  obstinate 
will  to  succeed  which  carry  on  many 
a  man  with  no  greater  capacity  than 
my  own.  I  may  have  as  good  brains 
asBickerton,  for  example :  but  I  am 
not  so  bumptious  as  he  is.  By  claim- 
ing the  first  place  wherever  he  goes, 
he  gets  it  very  often.  My  dear 
friends,  don't  you  see  how  modest  I 
am  ?  There  never  was  a  man  less 
likely  to  get  on  than  myself, —  you 
must  own  that ;  and  I  tell  you  that 
Charlotte  and  I  must  look  forward  to 
a  life  of  poverty,  of  cheese-parings, 
and  second-floor  lodgings  at  Penton- 
ville  or  Islington.  That's  about  my 
mark.  I  would  let  her  off,  only  I 
know  she  would  not  take  me  at  my 
word, —  the  dear  little  thing !  Slie 
has  set  her  heart  upon  a  hulking 
pauper  ;  that 's  the  truth.  And  I  tell 
you  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am 
going  seriously  to  learn  the  profession 
of  poverty,  and  make  myself  master 
of  it.  What 's  the  price  of  cowheel 
and  tripe  ?  You  don't  know.  I  do  ; 
and  the  right  place  to  buy  'em.  I  am 
as  good  a  judge  of  sprats  as  any  man 
in  London.  My  tap  in  life  is  to  be 
small-beer  henceforth,  and  I  am  grow- 
ing quite  to  like  it,  and  think  it  is 
brisk,  and  pleasant,  and  wholesome." 
There  was  not  a  little  truth  in  Philip's 
account  of  himself,  and  his  capacities 
and  incapacities.  Doubtless,  he  was 
not  bom  to  make  a  great  name  for 
himself  in  the  world.  But  do  we 
like  those  only  who  are  famous  ? 
As  well  say  we  will  only  give  our 
regard  to  men  who  have  ten  thou- 
sand a  year,  or  are  more  than  six  feet 
high. 

While  of  his  three  female  fi-iends 
and  advisers,  my  wife  admired  Phil- 
ip's humility,  Mrs.  Brandon  and  Mrs. 
Mugford  were  rather  disappointed  at 
his  want  of  spirit,  and  to  think  that 
he  aimed  so  low.  I  shall  not  say 
which  side  Firmin's  biographer  took 
in  this  matter.     Was  it  my  business 


to  applaud  or  rebuke  him  for  being 
humble-minded,  or  was  I  called  upon 
to  advise  at  all  ?  My  amiable  reader, 
acknowledge  that  you  and  I  in  life 
pretty  much  go  our  own  way.  We 
eat  the  dishes  we  like  because  we  like 
them,  not  because  our  neighbor  rel- 
ishes them.  We  rise  early,  or  sit  up 
late ;  we  work,  idle,  smoke,  or  what 
not,  because  we  choose  so  to  do,  not 
because  the  doctor  orders.  Philip, 
then,  was  like  you  and  me,  who  will 
have  our  own  way  when  we  can. 
Will  we  not  ?  If  you  won't,  you  do 
not  deserve  it.  Instead  of  hungering 
after  a  stalled  ox,  he  was  accustoming 
himself  to  be  content  with  a  dinner 
of  herbs.  Instead  of  braving  the  tem- 
pest, he  chose  to  take  in  sail,  creep 
along  shore,  and  wait  for  calmer 
weather. 

So,  on  Tuesday  of  every  week  let 
us  say,  it  was  this  modest  sub-editor's 
duty  to  begin  snipping  and  pasting 
paragraphs  for  the  ensuing  Satur- 
day's issue.  He  cut  down  the  par- 
liamentary speeches,  giving  due  f;i- 
voritism  to  the  orators  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  party,  and  meagre  out- 
lines of  their  opponent's  discourses. 
If  the  leading  public  men  on  the  side 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  gave  enter- 
tainments, you  may  be  sure  they  were 
duly  chronicled  in  the  fashionable 
intelligence ;  if  one  of  their  party 
wrote  a  book  it  was  pretty  sure  to 
get  praise  from  the  critic.  I  am 
speaking  of  simple  old  days,  you  un- 
derstand. Of  course  there  is  no  puff- 
ing, or  jobbing,  or  false  praise,  or  un- 
fair censure  now.  Every  critic  knows 
what  he  is  writing  about,  and  writes 
with  no  aim  but  to  tell  truth. 

Thus  Philip,  the  dandy  of  two 
years  back,  was  content  to  wear  the 
shabbiest  old  coat ;  Philip,  the  Phi- 
lippus  of  one-and-twenty,  who  rode 
showy  horses,  and  rejoiced  to  display 
his  horse  and  person  in  the  park,  now 
humbly  took  his  place  in  anomnil)us, 
and  only  on  occasions  indulged  in  a 
cab.  From  the  roof  of  the  larger 
vehicle  he  would  salute  his  friends 
with  perfect  affability,  and  stare  down 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


335 


on  his  aunt  as  she  passed  in  her  ba- 1 
rouche.   He  never  could  be  quite  made 
to   acknowledge   that  she   purposely 
would  not  see  him  ;  or  he  would  at-  ! 
tribute  her  blindness  to  the  quarrel 
which  they  had  had,  not  to  his  pov- 
erty and   present  position.       As   for 
his  cousin  Ringwood,  "  That   fellow 
would  commit  any  baseness,"  Philip  1 
acknowledged  ;  "  and  it  is  I  who  have 
cut  him,"  our  friend  averred. 

A  real  danger  was  lest  our  friend 
should  in  his  poverty  become  more 
haughty  and  insolent  than  he  had 
been  in  his  days  of  better  fortune,  and 
that  he  should  make  companions  of 
men  who  were  not  his  equals.  Wheth- 
er was  it  better  for  him  to  be  slighted 
in  a  fashionable  club,  or  to  swagger 
at  the  head  of  the  company  in  a  tav- 
ern parlor  ?  This  was  the  danger  we 
might  fear  for  Firmin.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  confess  that  he  was 
choosing  to  take  a  lower  place  in  the 
world  than  that  to  which  he  had  been 
born. 

"  Do  yon  mean  that  Philip  is  low- 
ered, because  he  is  poor  ?  "  asked  an 
angry  lady,  to  whom  this  remark  was 
made  by  her  husband,  —  man  and 
wife  being  both  very  good  friends  to 
Mr.  Firmin. 

"  My  dear,"  replies  the  worldling 
of  a  husband,  "  suppose  Philip  were 
to  take  a  fancy  to  buy  a  donkey  and 
sell  cabbages?  He  would  be  doing 
no  harm ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  he 
would  lower  himself  in  the  world's 
estimation. 

"  Lower  himself! "  says  the  lady, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  No  man 
lowers  himself  by  pursuing  an  honest 
calling.     No  man  !  " 

"  Very  good.  There  is  Grundsell, 
the  green-grocer,  out  of  Tuthill  Street, 
who  waits  at  our  dinners.  Instead 
of  asking  him  to  wait,  we  should  beg 
him  to  sit  down  at  table ;  or  perhaps 
Mfi  should  wait,  and  stand  with  a  nap- 
kin behind  Grundsell." 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"  Grundsell's  calling  is  strictly  hon- 
est, unless  he  abuses  his  opportuni- 
ties, and  smuggles  away  — 


" —  Smuggles  away  stuff  and  non- 
sense !  " 

"  Very  good ;  Gnmdsell  is  not  a  fit- 
ting companion,  then,  for  us,  or  the 
nine  little  Gnindsolls  for  our  children. 
Tlien  why  should  Philip  give  up  the 
friends  of  his  youth,  and  forsake  a 
club  for  a  tavern  parlor?  You  can't 
say  our  little  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon, 
good  as  she  is,  is  a  fitting  companion 
for  him  ?  " 

"  If  he  had  a  good  little  wife,  he 
would  have  a  companion  of  his  own 
degree ;  and  he  would  be  twice  as 
happy ;  and  he  would  be  out  of  all 
danger  and  temptation,  —  and  the  best 
thing  he  can  do  is  to  marry  directly !  " 
cries  the  lady.  "And,  my  dear,  I 
think  I  shall  write  to  Charlotte  and 
ask  her  to  come  and  stay  with  us." 

There  was  no  withstanding  this  ar- 
gument. As  long  as  Charlotte  was 
with  us  we  were  sure  that  Philip 
would  be  out  of  harm's  way,  and 
seek  for  no  other  company.  There 
was  a  snug  little  bedroom  close  by  the 
quarters  inhabited  by  our  own  chil- 
dren. My  wife  pleased  herself  by 
adorning  this  chamber,  and  Uncle 
Mac  happening  to  come  to  London 
on  business  about  this  time,  the  young 
lady  came  over  to  us  under  his  con- 
voy, and  I  should  like  to  describe  the 
meeting  between  her  and  Mr.  Phiiip 
in  our  parlor.  No  doubt  it  was  very 
edifying.  But  my  wife  and  I  were 
not  present,  vous  ccmccvez.  We  only 
heard  one  shout  of  surprise  and  de- 
light from  Philip  as  he  went  into  the 
room  where  the  young  lady  was  wait- 
ing. We  had  but  said,  "  Go  into  the 
parlor,  Philip.  You  will  find  your 
old  friend  Major  Mac  there.  He  has 
come  to  London  on  business,  and  has 
news  of — "  There  was  no  need  to 
speak,  for  here  Philip  straightway 
bounced  into  the  room. 

And  then  came  the  shout.  And 
then  out  came  Major  Mac,  with  such 
a  droll  twinkle  in  bis  eyes !  What 
artifices  and  hypocrisies  had  we  not 
to  practise  previously,  so  as  to  keep 
our  secret  from  our  children,  who  as- 
suredly would  have  discovered  it !    I 


336 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


must  tell  you  that  the  paterfamilias 
had  guarded  against  the  innocent 
prattle  and  inquiries  of  the  children 
regarding  the  preparation  of  the  little 
bedroom,  by  informing  them  that  it 
was  intended  for  Miss  Grigsby,  the 
governess,  with  whose  advent  they 
had  long  been  threatened.  And  one 
of  our  girls,  when  the  unconscious 
Philip  arrived,  said,  "  Philip,  if  you 
go  into  the  parlor,  you  will  find  Miss 
Grif/shy,  the  governess,  there."  And 
then  Philip  entered  into  that  parlor, 
and  then  arose  that  shout,  and  then 
out  came  Uncle  Mac,  and  then,  &c., 
&c.  And  we  called  Charlotte  Miss 
Grigsby  all  dinner-time ;  and  we  called 
her  Miss  Grigsby  next  day ;  and 
the  more  we  called  her  Miss  Grigs- 
by the  more  we  all  laughed.  And 
the  baby,  who  could  not  speak  plain 
yet,  called  her  Miss  Gibby,  and 
laughed  loudest  of  all;  and  it  was 
such  fun.  But  I  tliink  Philip  and 
Charlotte  had  the  best  of  the  fun,  ray 
dears,  though  they  may  not  have 
laughed  quite  so  loud  as  we  did. 

As  for  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  you 
may  be  sure,  speedily  came  to  pay  us 
a  visit,  Charlotte  blushed,  and  looked 
quite  beautiful  when  she  went  up  and 
kissed  the  Little  Sister.  "  He  have 
told  you  about  me,  then  !  "  she  said, 
in  her  soft  little  voice,  smoothing  the 
young  lady's  brown  hair.  "  Should 
I  have  known  him  at  all  but  for  you, 
and  did  you  not  save  his  life  for 
me  when  he  was  ill?"  asked  Miss 
Baynes.  "  And  may  n't  I  love  every- 
body who  loves  him  ?  "  she  asked. 
And  we  left  these  women  alone  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  they 
became  the  most  intimate  friends  in 
the  world.  And  all  our  household, 
great  and  small,  including  the  nurse 
(a  woman  of  a  most  jealous,  domi- 
neering, and  uncomfortable  fidelity), 
thought  well  of  our  gentle  young 
guest,  and  welcomed  Miss  Grigsby. 

Charlotte,  you  see,  is  not  so  exceed- 
ingly handsome  as  to  cause  other  wo- 
men to  perjure  themselves  by  protest- 
ing that  she  is  no  great  things  after 
all.    At  the  period  with  which  we  are 


concerned,  she  certainly  had  a  lovely 
complexion,  which  her  black  dress  set 
off,  perhajjs.  And  when  Philip  used 
to  come  into  the  room,  she  had  al- 
ways a  fine  garland  of  roses  ready  to 
offer  him,  and  growing  upon  her 
cheeks,  the  moment  he  appeared. 
Her  manners  are  so  entirely  unaf- 
fected and  simple  that  they  can't  be 
otherwise  than  good :  for  is  she  not 
grateful,  truthful,  unconscious  of  self, 
easily  pleased  and  interested  in  oth- 
ers 1  Is  she  very  witty  1  I  never 
said  so, ' —  though  that  she  appreciated 
some  men's  wit  (whose  names  need 
not  be  mentioned)  I  cannot  doubt. 
"  I  say,"  cries  Philip,  on  that  memo- 
rable first  night  of  her  arrival,  and 
when  she  and  other  ladies  had  gone 
to  bed,  "  by  George !  is  n't  she  glori- 
ous, I  say !  What  can  I  have  done 
to  win  snch  a  pure  little  heart  as 
that  ?  Non  sum  dignus.  It  is  too 
much  happiness,  —  too  much,  by 
George ! "  And  his  voice  breaks  be- 
hind his  pipe,  and  he  squeezes  two 
fists  into  eyes  that  are  brimful  of  joy 
and  thanks.  Where  Fortune  bestows 
such  a  bounty  as  this,  I  think  we  need 
not  pity  a  man  for  what  she  with- 
draws. As  Philip  walks  away  at 
midnight  (walks  away  ?  is  turned  out 
of  doors ;  or  surel}*  he  would  have 
gone  on  talking  till  dawn),  with  the 
rain  beating  in  his  face,  and  fifty  or  a 
hundred  pounds  for  all  his  fortune  in 
his  pocket,  I  think  there  goes  one  of 
the  happiest  of  men,  —  the  happiest 
and  richest.  For  is  he  not  possessor 
of  a  treasure  which  he  could  not  bxiy, 
or  would  not  sell,  for  all  the  wealth' 
of  the  world? 

My  wife  may  say  what  she  will, 
but  she  assuredly  is  answerable  for 
the  invitation  to  Miss  Baynes,  and 
for  all  that  ensued  in  con.sequence. 
At  a  hint  that  she  would  be  a  wel- 
come guest  in  our  house,  in  London, 
where  all  her  heart  and  treasure  lay, 
Charlotte  Baynes  gave  up  straightway 
her  dear  aunt  at  Tours,  who  had  been 
kind  to  her  ;  her  dear  uncle,  her  dear 
mamma,  and  all  her  dear  brothers,  — 
following  that  natural  law  which  or- 


THE  advkx!l:i:j:.>  of  philip 


337 


dains  that  a  woman,  under  certain 
circumstances,  shall  rcsij.'-n  home, 
parents,  brothers,  sisters,  for  the  sake 
of  that  one  individual  who  is  hence- 
forth to  Ite  dearer  to  her  than  all. 
Mrs.  Bayncs,  the  widow,  growled  a 
complaint  at  her  daughter's  ingrati- 
tude, but  did  not  refuse  her  consent. 
She  may  have  known  that  little  He- 
ly,  Charlotte's  volatile  admirer,  had 
ttuttered  off  to  another  flower  by  this 
time,  and  that  a  pursuit  of  that  but- 
terfly was  in  vain ;  or  she  may 
have  heard  that  he  was  going  to  pass 
tlie  spring  —  the  butterfly  season  — 
in  London,  and  hojicd  that  he  j.cr- 
chance  might  again  light  on  her  girl. 
Howbeit,  she  was  glad  enough  that 
her  daughter  should  accept  an  invita- 
tion to  our  house,  and  owned  that  as 
yet  the  poor  child's  share  of  this  life's 
pleasures  had  been  but  .small.  Char- 
lotte's modest  little  trunks  were  again 
packed,  then,  and  the  poor  child  was 
sent  off,  I  won't  say  with  how  small 
a  provision  of  pocket-money,  by  her 
mother.  But  the  thrifty  woman  had 
but  little,  and  of  it  was  determined  to 
j^ive  as  little  as  she  could.  "  Heaven 
will  provide  for  my  child,"  she  would 
piously  say  ;  and  hence  interfered 
very  little  with  those  agents  whom 
Heaven  sent  to  befriend  her  children. 
"  Her  mother  told  Charlotte  that  she 
would  send  her  some  money  next 
Tuesday,"  the  Major  told  us  ;  "  but, 
between  ourselves,  !■  doubt  whether 
she  will.  Between  ourselves,  my 
sister-in-law  is  always  going  to  give 
money  next  Tuesday  :  but  somehow 
Wednesday  comes,  and  the  money 
lias  not  arrived.  I  could  not  let  the 
little  maid  be  without  a  few  guineas, 
and  have  provided  her  out  of  a  half- 
pay  purse ;  but  mark  me,  that  pay- 
day "Tuesday  will  never  come."  Shall 
I  deny  or  confirm  the  worthy  Major's 
statement  ?  Thus  far  I  will  say,  that 
Tuesday  most  certainly  came ;  and  a 
letter  from  her  mamma  to  Charlotte,  I 
which  said  that  one  of  her  brothers  ' 
and  a  younger  sister  were  going  to  I 
stay  with  Aunt  Mac  ;  and  that  as  j 
Char  was  so  happy  with  her  most 
15 


h<)s]iitiil)]c  and  kind  friends,  a  fond 
widowed  mother,  who  had  given  up 
all  jileasures  for  herself,  would  not 
interfere  to  prevent  a  darling  child's 
lia])piness. 

It  has  been  said  that  three  women, 
whose  names  have  been  given  up, 
were  consjiiring  in  the  behalf  of  this 
young  ])erson  and  the  young  man  her 
sweetheart.  Three  days  after  Char- 
lotte's arrival  at  our  house,  my  wife 
persists  in  thinking  that  a  drive  into 
the  country  would  do  the  child  good, 
orders  a  brougham,  dresses  Charlotte 
in  her  best,  and  trots  away  to  see  Mrs. 
MuLford  at  llampstcad.  Mrs.  Bran- 
don is  at  ISlrs.  Mugford's,  of  course 
qinte  by  chance  and  I  feel  sure  that 
Charlotte's  friend  compliments  Mrs. 
Mugford  n]jon  her  garden,  upon  her 
nursery,  ujwn  her  luncheon,  upon 
everything  that  is  hers.  "  Why,  dear 
me."  says  Mrs.  Mugford  (as  the  ladies 
discourse  njon  a  certain  subject), 
what  does  it  matter  ?  Me  and  Mug- 
ford married  on  two  ]iound  a  week  ; 
and  on  two  ]jound  a  week  my  dear 
eldest  children  were  born.  It  was  a 
haril  struggle  sometimes,  but  we  were 
all  the  haj)])ier  for  it ;  and  I  'm  sure 
if  a  num  won't  risk  a  little  he  don't 
deserve  much.  I  know  /would  risk, 
if  I  were  a  man,  to  nnirry  such  a 
pretty  young  dear.  And  I  should  take 
a  young  man  to  be  but  a  mean-spirited 
fellow  who  waited  and  went  shilly- 
shallying when  he  had  but  to  say  the 
word  and  be  happy.  I  thought  Mr.  i\ 
was  a  brave,  courageous  gentleman,  I 
did,  Mrs.  Brandon.  Do  you  want 
me  for  to  have  a  bad  ojiiniou  of  him  ? 
My  dear,  a  little  of  that  cream.  It  's 
very  good.  We  'ad  a  dinner  yester- 
day, and  a  cook  down  from  town,  on 
purpose."  This  speech,  with  apjjio- 
priate  imitations  of  voice  and  gesture, 
was  repeated  to  the  jjresent  biogra- 
pher by  the  present  biograjiher's 
wife,  and  he  now^  began  to  see  in 
what  webs  and  meshes  of  conspira- 
cy these  artful  women  had  envclo]jed 
the  subject  of  the  present  biography 
Like  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  the  other 
matron,     Charlotte's      friend,     Mrs- 


338 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Mugford  became  interested  in  the 
gentle  young  creature,  and  kissed  her 
kindly,  and  made  her  a  present  on 
going  away.  It  was  a  brooch  in  the 
shape  of  a  thistle,  if  I  remember 
aright,  set  with  amethysts  and  a 
lovely  Scottish  stone  called,  I  believe, 
a  carumgorura.  "  She  ain't  no 
stvle  about  her ;  and  I  confess,  from 
a  "general's  daughter,  brought  up  on 
the  Continent,  I  should  have  expected 
better.  But  we  '11  show  her  a  little 
of  the  world  and  the  opera,  Brandon, 
and  she  '11  do  very  well,  of  tliat  I 
make  no  doubt."  And  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  took  Miss  Baynes  to  the  opera, 
and  pointed  out  the  other  people  of 
fashion  there  assembled.  And  de- 
lighted Charlotte  was.  I  make  no 
doubt  there  was  a  young  gentleman 
of  our  acquaintance  at  the  back  of 
the  box  who  was  very  happy  too. 
And  this  year,  Philip's  kmsmau's 
■wife,  Lady  Ringwood,  had  a  box, 
in  which  Philip  saw  her  and  her 
daughters,  and  little  Ringwood  Twys- 
den  paying  assiduous  court  to  her 
Ladyship.  They  met  in  the  crush- 
room  by  chance  again,  >and  Lady 
Ringwood  looked  hard  at  Philip  and 
the  blushing  young  lady  on  his  arm. 
And  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Mugford's 
carriage,  —  the  little  one-horse  trap 
which  opens  and  shuts  so  conveniently, 
—  and  Lady  Ringwood's  tall,  embla- 
zoned chariot  of  state,  stopped  the 
Avay  together.  And  from  the  tall  em- 
blazoned chariot  the  ladies  looked  not 
unkindly  at  the  trap  which  contained 
the  beloved  of  Philip's  heart :  and  the 
carriages  departed  each  on  its  way  ; 
and  Ringwood  Twysden,  seeing  his 
cousin  advancing  towards  him,  turneil 
very  pale,  and  dodged  at  a  double- 
quick  down  an  arcade.  But  he  need 
not  have  been  afraid  of  Philip.  Mr. 
Firmin's  heart  was  all  softness  and 
benevolence  at  that  time.  He  was 
thinking  of  those  sweet,  sweet  eyes 
that  had  just  glanced  to  him  a  tender 
good-night ;  of  that  little  hand  which 
a  moment  since  had  hung  witlj  fond 
pressure  on  his  arm.  Do  you  sup- 
pose in  such  a  frame  of  mind  he  bad 


leisure  to  think  of  a  nauseous  little 
reptile  crawling  behind  him  ?  He 
was  so  happy  that  night,  that  Philip 
was  King  Philip  again.  And  he 
went  to  the  "  Haunt,",  and  sang  his 
song  of  Garrifowen  na  gloria,  and 
greeted  the  boys  assembled,  and 
spent  at  least  three  shillings  over  his 
supper  and  drinks.  But  the  next 
day  being  Sunday,  Mr.  Firmin  was 
at  Westminster  Abbey,  listening  lo 
the  sweet  church  chants,  by  the  side 
of  the  very  same  young  person  whom 
he  had  escorted  to  the  opera  on  the 
night  before.  They  sat  together  so 
close  that  one  must  have  heard  exact- 
ly as  well  as  the  other.  I  dare  say  it 
is  edifying  to  listen  to  anthems  a  deux. 
And  how  complimentary  to  the  cler- 
gyman to  have  to  wish  that  the  ser- 
mon was  longer  !  Through  the  vast 
cathedral  aisles  the  organ  notes  peal 
gloriously.  Ruby  and  topaz  and 
amethyst  blaze  from  the  great  church 
windows.  Under  the  tall  arcades  the 
young  people  went  together.  Hand  iu 
hand  they  passed,  and  thought  no  ill. 
Do  gentle  readers  begin  to  tire  of 
this  spectacle  of  billing  and  cooing  1 
I  have  tried  to  describe  Mr.  Philip's 
love-affairs  with  as  few  words  and  in 
as  modest  phrases  as  may  be,  —  omit- 
ting the  raptures,  the  passionate 
vows,  the  reams  of  correspondence, 
and  the  usual  commonplaces  of  his 
situation.  And  yet,  my  dear  madam, 
though  you  and  I  may  be  past  the 
age  of  billing  and  cooing,  though 
your  ringlets,  which  I  remember  a 
lovely  auburn,  are  now  —  well  — 
are  now  a  rich  purjjle  and  green 
black,  and  my  brow  may  be  as  bald 
as  a  cannon-ball ;  —  I  say,  though  we 
are  old,  we  are  not  too  old  to  forget. 
We  may  not  care  about  the  panto- 
mime much  now,  but  we  like  to  take 
the  young  folks,  and  see  them  re- 
joicing. From  the  window  where  I 
write,  I  can  look  down  into  the  gar- 
den of  a  certain  square.  In  that 
garden  I  can  at  this  moment  see  a 
young  gentleman  and  lady  of  my  ac- 
quaintance pacing  up  and  down. 
They  are  talking  some  such  talk  aa 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


339 


Milton  imagines  our  first  parents 
engaged  in  ;  and  yonder  garden  is  a 
paradise  to  my  young  friends.  Did 
they  choose  to  look  outside  the  rail- 
ings of  the  square,  or  at  any  other 
objects  than  each  other's  noses,  they 
might  see —  the  tax-gatherer  we  -will 
say,  —  with  his  book,  knot  king  at 
one  door,  the  doctor's  brougham  at 
a  second,  a  hatchment  over  the  win- 
dows of  a  third  mansion,  the  baker's 
boy  discoursing  with  the  house-maid 
over  tlie  railings  of  a  fourth.  But 
what  to  them  are  these  phenomena  of 
life  1  Arm  in  arm  my  young  folks 
go  pacing  up  and  down  their  Eden, 
and  discoursing  about  that  happy 
time  which  I  suppose  is  now  drawing 
near,  about  that  cliarmiiig  little  snug- 
gery for  wliich  the  furniture  is  or- 
dered, and  to  which,  miss,  your  old 
friend  and  very  humble  servant  will 
take  the  liberty  of  forwarding  his  best 
regards  and  a  neat  silver  teapot.  I 
dare  say,  with  these  young  peojile,  as 
with  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss  Charlotte, 
all  occurrences  of  life  seem  to  liavc, 
reference  to  that  event  which  forms 
the  subject  of  their  perpetual  longing 
and  contemplation.  There  is  the 
doctor's  brougham  driving  away,  and 
Imogene  says  to  Alonzo,  "  What 
anguish  I  shall  have  if  you  are  ill ! 
Then  there  is  the  carpenter  putting  up 
the  hatchment.  "  Ah,  my  love,  if 
you  were  to  die,  I  think  they  might 
put  up  a  hatchment  for  both  of  us," 
says  Alonzo  with  a  killing  sigh. 
Both  sympathize  with  Mary  and  the 
baker's  boy  whispering  over  the  rail- 
ings. Go  to,  gentle  baker's  boy,  we 
also  know  what  it  is  to  love ! 

The  whole  sotil  and  strength  of 
Charlotte  and  Philip  being  bent  upon 
marriage,  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a 
document  which  Philip  received  at 
this  time;  and  can  imagine  that  it 
occasioned  no  little  sensation  :  — 

"  ASTOR  House,  New  York. 

"  And  so  you  arc  returned  to  the 

great  city,  —  to  the  fiimum,  the  strepi- 

ium,  and  I  sincerely  hope  the  opes  of 

•ur  Rome !    Your  own   letters  are 


but  brief;  but  I  have  an  occasional 
correspondent  (there  are  few,  alas  ! 
who  remember  the  exile .' )  who  keeps 
me  ait  coiirant  of  my  Philip's  history, 
and  tells  nie  that  you  are  industrious, 
that  you  are  cheerful,  that  you  j)ros- 
per.  Cheerfulness  is  the  companion 
of  Industry,  Prosperity  their  offspring. 
That  that  prosperity  may  attain  the 
fullest  growth  is  an  absent  father's 
fondest  prayer !  Perhaps  erelong  I 
shall  be  able  to  announce  to  you  that 
I  too  am  prospering.  I  am  engaged 
in  jnirsuing  a  scientific  discovery  here 
(it  is  medical,  and  connected  with  my 
own  profession),  of  which  the  results 
oxifjlit  to  lead  to  Fortune,  unless  the 
jade  has  forever  deserted  George 
Brand  Firmin  !  So  you  have  em- 
barked in  the  drudgery  of  the  press, 
and  have  become  a  member  of  the 
fourth  estate.  It  has  been  despised, 
and  pressman  and  poverty  were  for  a 
long  time  supposed  to  be  .synonymous. 
But  the  power,  the  wealth  of  the  press 
are  daily  developing,  and  they  will 
,  increase  yet  further.  I  confess  I 
i  should  have  liked  to  hear  that  my 
j  Philip  was  pursuing  his  profession 
of  the  bar,  at  which  honor,  splcndi<l 
competence,  nay,  aristocratic  rank, 
arc  the  prizes  of  the  bo'd,  the  iiidustrious, 
and  the  deserring.  Why  should  you 
not  '\  —  should  I  not  still  hope  that  you 
may  gain  legal  eminence  and  jiosi- 
tion  ?  A  father  who  has  had  much 
to  suffer,  who  is  descending  the  vale 
of  years  alone  and  in  a  distant  land, 
would  be  soothed  in  his  exile  if  he 
thought  his  son  would  one  day  be 
able  to  repair  the  shattered  lortiines 
of  his  race.  But  it  is  not  yet,  I  fondly 
think,  too  late.  You  may  yet  (iiialify 
for  the  bar,  and  one  of  its  ])rizes  may 
fall  to  you.  I  confess  it  was  not  with- 
out a  pang  of  grief  I  hciird  iVom  our 
kind  little  friend  Mrs.  B.,  you  were 
studying  short-hand, in  order  to  be- 
come a  newspaper  reporter.  And  has 
Fortune,  then,  been  so  relentless  to 
me  that  mv  son  is  to  be  compelled  to 
follow  such  a  calling  ?  I  shall  try 
and  be  resigned.  I  had  hoped  higher 
things  for  you  —  for  me. 


340 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


"  My  dear  boy,  with  regard  to  your 
romantic  attachment  for  Miss  Baynes, 
which  our  good  little  Brandon 
narrates  to  me,  in  her  peculiar  ortho- 
graph'^,  but  with  much  tomhin'j  simpli- 
city, —  I  make  it  a  rule  not  to  say  a 
word  of  comment,  of  warning,  or  re- 
monstrance. As  sure  as  you  are  _vour 
father's  son,  you  will  take  your  own 
line  in  any  matter  of  attachment  to  a 
woman,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the  world 
won't  stop  you.  In  Philip  of  four-and- 
twenty  I  recognize  his  ftither  thirty 
years  ago.  My  father  scolded,  entreat- 
ed, quarrelled  with  me,  never  forgave 
me.  I  will  learn  to  be  more  generous 
towards  ray  son.  I  may  grieve,  but  I 
bear  you  no  malice.  If  ever  I  achieve 
wealth  again,  you  shall  not  be  de- 
prived of  it.  I  suffered  so  myself 
from  a  harsh  father,  that  I  will  never 
be  one  to  my  son ! 

"  As  you  have  put  on  the  livery  of 
the    Muses,    and    regularly    entered 
yourself  of  the  Fraternity  of  the  Press,  i 
what  say  you  to  a  little  addition  to 
your  income  by  letters  addressed  to 
my    friend,   the    editor  of    the  new 
journal,  called  herc  the  Gazette  of  the 
Upper  Ten    Thousand.      It    is    the 
fashionable  journal  published   here ; 
and  your  qualifications  are  precisely 
those  wliich  would  make  your  servit-es 
valuable    as   a  contributor.     Doctor 
Geraldine,  the  editor,  is  not,  I  believe,  ' 
a  relative  of  the  Leinstcr  family,  but  ! 
a  self-mide  mm,  who  arrived  in  this  i 
country  soma  years  since,  poor,  and  ; 
an  exile  from  his  native  countrv.     He  j 
advocates  liepeal  politics  in  Ireland  ; 
but   witii   these   of  course  you  need 
have  nothiug  to  do.     And  he  is  miuh 
too  liberal  to  expect  these  from  his 
contributors.     I  have  been  of  service 
professionally  to  Mrs.  Geraldine  and  ! 
himself.    My"  friend  of  the  Emerald  in- ' 
troJuced  me  to  the  Doctor.     Terrible  ' 
enemies  in  print,  in  private  they  are  [ 
perfectly  good  friends,  and  the  "little  | 
passages   of  arms    between    the   two 
journalists  serve  rather  to  amuse  than  | 
to  irritate.     '  The  grocer's  boy  from  ' 
Ormond   Quay'   (Geraldine   once,  it: 
appears,  engaged   in  that  useful  but  I 


humble  calling)  and  the  '  miscreant 
from  Cork  — the  editor  of  the  Emerald 
comes  from  that  city  —  assail  each 
other  in  public,  but  drink  whiskey-and- 
water  galore  in  private.  If  you  write 
for  Geraldine,  of  course  you  will  say 
nothing  disrespectful  about  grocers' 
Iwys.  His  dollars  are  good  silver,  of 
that  you  may  be  sure.  Dr.  G.  knows 
a  part  of  your  history :  he  knows  that 
you  are  now  fairly  engaged  in  literary 
pursuits ;  that  you  are  a  man  of 
education,  a  gentleman,  a  man  of  the 
world,  a  man  of  courage.  I  have 
answered  for  your  possessing  all  thase 
qualities.  (The  Doctor,  in  his  droll, 
humorous  way,  said  that  if  you  were 
a  chip  of  the  old  block  you  would  be 
just  what  he  called  '  the  grit.')  Politi- 
cal treatises  are  not  so  much  wanted 
as  personal  news  regarding  the  nota- 
bilities of  London,  and  these,  I  assured 
him,  you  were  the  very  man  to  be 
able  to  furnish.  You,  who  know 
everybody  ;  who  have  lived  with  the 
great  world,  —  the  world  of  lawyers, 
the  world  of  artists,  the  world  of  the 
University, — have  already  had  an 
experience  which  few  gentlemen  of 
the  press  can  boast  of,  and  may  turn 
that  experience  to  profit.  Suppose 
you  were  to  trust  a  little  to  your 
imagination  in  composing  these  let- 
ters ?  there  can  be  no  harm  in  being 
poetical.  Su])posc  an  intelligent  corre- 
s/wident  writes  that  he  has  met  the 
D-kc  of  W-ll-ngt-n.  had  a  private 
interview  with  the  Pr-m-r,  and  so 
forth,  who  is  to  say  him  nay  ?  And 
this  is  the  kind  of  talk  our  gobeinouches 
of  New  York  delight  in.  My  worthy 
friend.  Doctor  Geraldine,  for  example, 
— between  ourselves  his  name  is 
Finnigan,  but  his  private  history  is 
strictljj  entre  noiL-^,  —  when  he  first  came 
to  New  York  astonished  the  people 
by  the  copiousness  of  his  anecdotes 
regarding  the  English  aristocraci/,  of 
whom  he  knows  as  much  as  he  docs 
of  the  Court  of  Pckin.  He  was  smart, 
ready,  sarcastic,  amusing ;  he  found 
readers  :  from  one  success  he  advanced 
to  another,  and  the  Gazette  of  the 
Upper  Ten  Thousand  is  likely  to  make 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


341 


this  ivorthy  mans  forbme.  You  really 
may  be  serviceable  to  him,  and  may 
justly  earn  the  liberal  remuneration 
which  he  offers  for  a  weekly  letter. 
Anecdotes  of  men  and  women  of 
fashion  —  the  more  gay  and  lively 
the  more  welcome  —  the  (juia/iiid 
ac/Hid  homines,  in  a  word  —  should  be 
the  fainu/o  liMli.  Who  are  the  reijj^n- 
ing  beauties  of  London  ?  and  Beauty, 
you  know,  has  a  rank  and  fashion  of 
its  own.  Has  any  one  lately  won  or 
lost  on  the  turf  or  at  play  7  What 
are  the  clubs  talking  about  ? 
Are  there  any  duels  ?  What  is  the 
last  scandal  ?  Does  the  good  old 
Duke  keep  his  health?  Is  that 
affair  over  between  the  Duchess  of 
This  and  Captain  That  ? 

"  Such  is  the  information  which 
our  badauds  here  like  to  have,  and 
for  which  my  friend  the  Doctor  will 

pay  at  the  rate  of  dollars  per 

letter.  Your  name  need  not  appear 
at  all.  The  remuneration  is  certain. 
C'est  a  prendre  ou  a  laisse)-,  as  our 
lively  neighbors  say.  Write  in  the 
first  place  in  confidence  to  me;  and 
in  whom  can  you  confide  more  safely 
than  in  your  fiither  ? 

"  You  will,  of  course,  pay  your  re- 
spects to  your  relative  the  new  Lord 
of  Ringwood.  For  a  young  man 
whose  family  is  so  powerful  as  yours, 
there  can  surely  be  no  derogation  in 
entertaining  some  feudal  respect,  and 
who  knows  whether  and  how  soon 
Sir  John  Ringwood  may  be  able  to 
help  his  cousin  ?  By  the  way.  Sir 
John  is  a  Whig,  and  your  paper  is  a 
Conservative.  But  you  are,  above 
nW,  /lommedu  monde.  In  such  a  sub- 
ordinate place  as  you  occupy  with 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  a  man's  private 
politics  do  not  surely  count  at  all. 
If  Sir  John  Ringwood,  your  kins- 
man, sees  any  way  of  helping  you,  so 
much  the  better,  and  of  course  your 
politics  will  be  those  of  your  family. 
I  have  no  knowledge  of  him.  He 
was  a  very  quiet  man  at  college, 
where,  I  regret  to  say,  your  father's 
friends  were  not  of  the  quiet  sort  at 
all.     I  trust  I  have  repented.     I  have 


sown  my  wild  oats.  And  ah !  how 
pleased  I  shall  be  to  hear  that  my 
Philip  has  bent  his  proud  head  a 
little,  and  is  ready  to  submit  more 
than  he  used  of  old  to  the  customs  of 
the  world.  Call  upon  Sir  John,  then. 
As  a  Whig  gentleman  of  large  estate, 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  ex- 
pect nspert  from  you.  He  is  your 
kinsman ;  the  representative  of  your 
grandfather's  gallant  and  noble  race. 
He  bears  the  name  your  mother  bore. 
To  her  my  Philip  was  always  gentle, 
and  for  her  sake  you  will  comply 
with  the  wishes  of 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  G.  B.  F." 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  of  compli- 
ment to  mademoiselle.  I  wish  her  so 
well  that  I  own  I  wish  she  were  about 
to  marry  a  richer  suitor  than  my  dear 
son.  Will  fortune  ever  permit  me  to 
embrace  my  daughter-in-law,  and 
take  your  children  on  my  knee  ? 
You  will  speak  kindly  to  them  of 
their  grandfather,  will  you  not  ? 
Poor  General  Baynes,  I  have  heard, 
used  violent  and  unseemly  language 
regarding  me,  which  I  most  heartily 
pardon.  I  am  grateful  when  I  think 
that  I  never  did  General  B.  an  injury  : 
grateful  and  proud  to  accept  benefits 
from  my  own  son.  These  I  treasure 
up  in  my  heart ;  and  still  hope  I  shall 
be  able  to  repay  with  something  more 
substantial  than  my  fondest  prayers. 
Give  my  best  wishes,  then,  to  Miss 
Charlotte,  and  try  and  teach  her  to 
think  kindly  of  her  Philip's  father." 

Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  who  kept 
the  name  of  Miss  Grigsby,  the  govern- 
ess, amongst  all  the  roguish  children 
of  a  facetious  father,  was  with  us  one 
month,  and  her  mamma  expressed 
great  cheerfulness  at  her  absence,  and 
at'  the  thought  that  she  had  found 
such  good  friends.  After  two  months, 
her  uncle.  Major  MacWhirtcr,  return- 
ed from  visiting  his  relations  in  the 
North,  and  offered  to  take  his  niece 
back  to  France  again.  He  made  this 
proposition  with  the  joUicst  air  in  fch^ 


342 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


world,  and  as  if  his  niece  would  jnmp 

for  joy  to  go  back  to  her  mother. 
But  to  the  Major's  astonishment. 
Miss  Biiyaes  turned  quite  pule,  ran  to 
her  hostess,  flung  herself  into  that 
lady's  arms,  and  then  there  began  an 
osculatory  performance  which  perfect- 
ly astonished  the  good  Major.  Char- 
lotte's friend,  holding  Miss  Baynes 
tight  in  her  embrace,  looked  fiercely 
at  the  Major  over  the  girl's  shoulder, 
and  defied  him  to  take  her  away  from 
that  sanctuary. 

"  O  you  dear,  good  dear  friend  !  " 
Charlotte  gurgled  out,  and  sobbed  I 
know  not  what  more  expressions  of 
fondness  and  gratitude. 

But  the  truth  is,  that  two  sisters, 
or  mother  and  daughter,  could  not 
love  each  other  more  heartily  than 
tliese  two  personages.  Mother  and 
daughter  forsooth !  You  should  have 
seen  Charlotte's  piteous  look  when 
sometimes  the  conviction  would  come 
on  her  that  she  ought  at  length  to 
go  home  to  mamma ;  such  a  look  as  I 
can  fancy  Iphigenia  casting  on  Aga- 
memnon, when,  in  obedience  to  a 
painful  sense  of  duty,  he  was  about  to 
—  to  use  the  sacrificial  knife.  No, 
we  all  loved  her.  The  children  would 
howl  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  their 
Miss  Grigsby.  Charlotte,  in  return, 
helped  th'em  to  very  pretty  lessons  in 
music  and  French,  —  served  hot,  as  it 
were,  from  her  own  recent  studies  at 
Tours,  —  and  a  good  daily  governess 
operated  on  the  rest  of  their  education 
to  everybody's  satisfaction. 

And  so  months  rolled  on  and  our 
young  favorite  still  remained  with  us. 
Mamma  fed  the  little  maid's  purse 
with  occasional  remittances ;  and 
begged  her  hostess  to  supply  her  with 
all  necessary  articles  from  the  milliner. 
Afterwards,  it  is  true,  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  *  *  But  why  enter  upon 
these  painful  family  disputes  in  a 
chapter  which  has  been  devoted  to 
sentiment  ? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Firmin  received  the 
letter  above  faithfully  copied  (with 
the  exception  of  the  pecuniary  offer, 
which  I  do  not  consider  myself  at  liber- 


ty to  divulge,)  he  hurried  down  from 
Thornhaugh  Street  to  Westminster. 
He  dashed  by  Buttons,  the  page  ;  he 
took  no  notice  of  my  wondering  wife 
at  the  drawing-room  door ;  he  rushed 
to  the  second  floor,  bursting  open  the 
school-room  door,  where  Charlotte 
was  teaching  our  dear  third  daughter 
to  plav  "In  my  Cottage  near  a 
Wood." 

"  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  !  "  he  cried 
out. 

"  La,  Philip !  don't  you  see  Miss 
Grigsby  is  giving  us  lessons  ? "  said 
the  children. 

But  he  would  not  listen  to  those 
wags,  and  still  beckoned  Charlotte  to 
him.  That  young  woman  rose  up 
and  followed  him  out  of  the  door,  as, 
indeed,  she  would  have  followed  him 
out  of  the  window ;  and  there,  on  the 
stairs,  they  read  Doctor  Firmin's  let- 
ter, with  their  heads  quite  close  to- 
gether, you  understand. 

"  Two  hundred  a  year  more,"  said 
Philip,  his  heart  throbbing  so  that  he 
could  hardly  speak ;  "  and  your  fifty, 
—  and  two  hundred  the  Gazette,  — 
and  —  " 

"  O  Philip !  "  was  all  Charlotte 
could  say,  and  then  —  There  was 
a  pretty  group  for  the  children  to  see, 
and  for  an  artist  to  draw  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

WATS   AND    MEAXS. 

Of  course  any  man  of  the  world, 
who  is  possessed  of  decent  prudence, 
will  perceive  that  the  idea  of  mar- 
rying on  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  so  secured  as  was  Master  Phil- 
ip's income,  was  preposterous  and  ab- 
surd. In  the  first  place,  you  can't 
live  On  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  yeay;that  is  a  certainty.  People  do 
live  on  less,  I  believe.  But  a  life 
without  a  brougham,  without  a  decent 
house,  without  claret  for  dinner,  and  a 
footman  to  wait,  can  hardly  be  called 
existence.  Philip's  income  might 
fail  any  day     He  might  not  please 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


343 


the  American  paper.  He  might  quar- 
rel witli  the  Tall  Mall  Gazette  And 
then  what  would  remain  to  him '! 
Only  poor  little  Charlotte's  fifty 
pounds  a  year  !  So  Philip's  most  in- 
timate male  friend  —  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  expe- 
rience—  argued.  Of  course  I  was 
not  surprised  that  Philip  did  not 
choose  to  take  my  advice ;  though  I 
did  not  expect  he  would  become  so 
violently  angry,  call  names  almost, 
and  use  most  rude  expressions,  when, 
Ht  his  express  desire,  this  advice  was 
tendered  to  him.  If  he  did  not  want 
it,  why  did  he  ask  for  it  1  The  ad- 
vice might  be  unwelcome  to  him,  but 
why  did  he  choose  to  tell  me  at  my 
own  table,  over  my  own  claret,  that  it 
was  the  advice  of  a  sneak  and  a  world- 
ling ?  My  good  fellow,  that  claret, 
though  it  is  a  second  growth,  and  I 
can  afford  no  better,  costs  seventy-two 
shillings  a  dozen.  How  much  is  six 
times  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  'i 
A  bottle  a  day  is  the  least  you  can  cal- 
culate (the  fellow  would  come  to  my 
house  and  drink  two  bottles  to  him- 
self, with  the  utmost  nonchalance). 
A  bottle  per  diem  of  that  light  claret 
• —  of  that  second-growth  stuff — costs 
one  hundred  and  four  guineas  a  year, 
do  you  understand  ?  or,  to  speak 
plainly  w  ith  you,  one  hundred  ana  nine 
imunds  four  shillings  !  " 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  "  apres  ? 
We  '11  do  without.  Meantime  I  will 
take  what  I  can  get !  "  and  he  tosses 
off  about  a  pint  as  he  speaks  (these 
vimtsseline  glasses  are  not  only  enor- 
mous, but  they  break  by  dozens.)  He 
tosses  off  a  pint  of  my  Larose,  and 
cives  a  great  roar  of  laughter,  as  if  he 
Had  said  a  good  thing ! 

Philip  Firmin  is  coarse  and  offen- 
sive at  times,  and  Bickerton  in  holding 
this  opinion  is  not  altogether  wrong. 

'.'  I  '11  drink  claret  when  I  come  to 
}rou,  old  boy,"  he  says,  grinning ; 
"and  at  home  I  will  have  whiskey- 
and-water." 

"  But  suppose  Charlotte  is  ordered 
tlaret  1  " 

"  Well,  she  can  have  it,"  says  this 


liberal  lover  ;  "  a  bottle  will  last  her  a 
Meek." 

"  Don't  you  see,"  I  shriek  out, 
"  that  even  a  bottle  a  week  costs 
something  like  —  six  by  fifty-two  — 
eighteen  pounds  a  year  \"  (I  own  it 
is  really  only  fifteen  twelve;  but,  in 
the  hurry  of  argument,  a  man  may 
stretch  a  figure  or  so.)  "Eighteen 
pounds  for  Charlotte's  claret ;  as 
much,  at  least,  you  great  boozy  toper, 
for  your  whiskey  and  beer.  Why, 
you  actually  want  a  tenth  part  of^ 
your  income  for  the  liquor  you  con- 
sume !  And  then  clothes ;  and  then 
lodging ;  and  then  coals ;  and  then 
doctor's  bills ;  and  then  pocket- 
money  ;  and  then  sea-side  for  the  little 
dears.  Just  have  the  kindness  to  add 
these  things  up,  and  you  will  find  that 
you  have  about  two-and-ninepence  left 
to  pay  the  grocer  and  the  butcher." 

"  What  you  call  prudence,"  says 
Philip,  thumping  the  table,  and,  of 
course,  breaking  a  glass,  "  I  call 
cowardice,  —  I  call  blasphemy  !  Do 
you  mean,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  tell 
me  that  two  young  people  and  a 
family,  if  it  should  please  Heaven  to 
send  them  one,  cannot  subsist  upon 
five  hundred  pounds  a  year  ?  Look 
round,  sir,  at  the  myriads  of  God's 
creatures  who  live,  love,  are  happy 
and  poor,  and  be  ashamed  of  the 
wicked  doubt  which  you  utter ! " 
And  he  starts  up,  and  strides  up  and 
down  the  dining-room,  curling  his 
flaming  mustache,  and  rings  the  bell 
fiercely,  and  says,  "Johnson,  I  've 
broke  a  glass.     Get  me  another." 

In  the  drawing-room,  my  wife  asks 
what  we  two  were  fighting  about  ? 
And,  as  Charlotte  is  up  stairs,  telling 
the  children  stories  as  they  are  put  to 
bed,  or  writing  to  her  dear  mamma, 
or  what  not,  our  friend  bursts  out 
with  more  rude  and  violent  expressions 
than  he  had  used  in  the  dining-room 
over  my  glasses  which  he  was  smash- 
ing, tells  my  own  wife  that  I  am  an 
atheist,  or  at  best  a  miserable  sceptic 
and  Sadducee ;  that  I  doubt  of  the 
goodness  of  Heaven,  and  am  not 
thankful  for  my  daily  bread.    And, 


344 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


with  one  of  her  kindling  looks  directed 
towards  the  young  man,  of  course  my 
wife  sides  with  him.  Miss  Char 
presently  came  down  from  the  young 
folks,  and  went  to  tiie  piano,  and 
plaved  us  Beethoven's  "  Dream  of 
Saint  Jerome,"  which  always  soothes 
mc,  and  eliarnis  me,  so  that  I  fancy  it  is 
a  po-'ni  of  Tennyson  in  music.  And 
o;ir  children,  as  they  sink  off  to  sleep 
overhead,  like  to  hear  soft  music, 
which  soothes  them  into  slumber. 
Miss  R.iynes  says.  And  Miss  Char- 
lotte looks  very  pretty  at  her  piano  : 
and  Philip  lies  gazing  at  her,  with  his 
great  feet  and  hands  tumbled  over  one 
of  our  arm-chairs.  And  the  music, 
with  its  solemn  cheer,  makes  us  all 
very  happy  and  kind-hearted,  and 
ennobles  us  .somehow  as  we  listen. 
And  my  wife  wears  her  Ixincdidory 
look  whenever  she  turns  towards  these 
young  people.  She  has  worked  her- 
self lip  to  the  opinion  that  yonder 
couple  ought  to  marry.  Slie  can  give 
chapter  and  verse  for  her  belief.  To 
doubt  about  the  matter  at  all  is  wicked 
according  to  her  notions.  And  there 
are  certain  points  upon  which,  I 
humbly  own,  that  I  don't  dare  to 
sirgue  with  her. 

When  the  women  of  the  house  have 
settled  a  matter,  is  there  much  use  in 
man's  resistance  ?  If  my  harem 
orders  that  1  shall  wear  a  yellow  coat 
and  pink  trousers,  I  know  that,  before 
tliree  months  are  over,  I  shall  be 
walking  alx)ut  in  rose-tendre  and 
canary-colored  garments.  It  is  the 
perseverance  which  conq  uers,  the  daily 
return  to  the  object  desired.  Take 
my  advice,  my  dear  sir,  when  you  see 
your  womankind  resolute  about  a 
matter,  give  up  at  once,  and  have  a 
quiet  life.  Perhaps  to  one  of  thfse 
evening  entertainments,  where  Miss 
Baynes  played  the  piano,  as  she  did 
very  pleas  intly,  and  Mr.  Philip's  great 
clumsy  list  turned  the  leaves,  little 
Mrs.  Brandon  would  come  tripping 
in,  and  as  she  surveyed  the  young 
couple,  her  remark  would  be,  "  Did 
you  ever  see  a  better-suited  couple  ?  " 
When  I  came  home  from  chambers, 


and  passed  the  dining-room  door,  my 
eldest  daughter  with  a  knowing  face 
would  bar  the  way  and  say,  "  You 
must  n't  go  in  there,  papa !  Miss 
Grigsby  is  there,  and  Master  Piiilip 
is  not  to  be  disturbtd  at  his  lessons! 
Mrs.  Mugford  had  begun  to  arrange 
marriages  between  her  young  peojjle 
and  ours  from  the  very  first  day  she 
saw  us ;  and  Mrs.  M.'s  ch.  filly 
Toddles,  rising  two  years,  and  our 
three-year-old  colt  Billyboy,  were  re- 
hearsing in  the  nursery  the  endless 
littie  ciimedy  which  the  grownup 
jKirsons  were  pei-forming  in  the  draw- 
ing rcjom. 

With  the  greatest  frankness  Mrs. 
Mugford  gave  her  opinion  that  Phil- 
ip, with  four  or  rive  hundred  a  year, 
would  bo  no  better  than  a  sneak  if  he 
delayed  to  marry.  How  much  had 
she  and  Muglbrd  w'len  they  married, 
she  would  like  to  know?  "Emily 
Str-et,  Pentonville,  was  where  we 
had  apartments,"  she  remarked  ;  "  we 
were  pinched  sometimes ;  but  we 
owed  nothing :  and  our  house-keep- 
ing books  I  can  show  you."  I  be- 
lieve Mrs.  M.  actually  brought  these 
dingy  relics  of  her  honeymoon  for  my 
wife's  inspection.  I  tell  you,  my 
house  was  peopled  with  these  friends 
of  matrimony.  Flics  were  forever  in 
requisition,  and  our  boys  were  very 
sulky  at  having  to  sit  for  an  hour  at 
Shoolbred's  while  certain  ladies  lin- 
gered there  over  blankets,  table-cloths, 
and  what  not.  Once  I  found  my 
wife  and  Charlotte  flitting  about 
Wardour  Street,  the  former  lady 
much  interested  in  a  great  Dutch  cab- 
inet, with  a  glass  cupboard  and  cor- 
pulent diawers.  And  that  ca^linet 
was,  erelong,  carted  otf  to  !Mrs.  Bran- 
don's, Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  in 
that  glass  cupboard  there  was  pres- 
ently to  be  seen  a  neat  set  of  china 
for  tea  and  breakfast.  The  end  was 
approaching.  That  event,  with  which 
the  third  volume  of  the  old  novels  used 
to  close,  was  at  hand.  I  am  afraid 
onr  young  people  can't  drive  off  from 
St.  George's  in  a  chaise  nnd  four,  and 
that  no  noble  relative  will  lend  them 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


345 


his  castle  for  the  honeymoon.  Well : 
some  people  cannot  drive  to  happiness, 
even  with  four  horses  ;  and  other  folks 
can  reach  the  goal  on  foot.  My  ven- 
erable Muse  stoops  down,  unlooses 
her  cothurnus  with  some  difficulty,  and 
prepares  to  fling  that  old  shoe  after 
the  pair. 

Tell,  venerable  Muse !  what  were 
the  marriage  gifts  which  friendshi]) 
provided  for  Philip  and  Charlotte  f 
Philip's  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden, 
came  simpering  up  to  me  at  "  Bays's 
Club  "  one  afternoon,  and  said  :  "  I 
hear  my  precious  cousin  is  going  to 
marry.  I  think  I  shall  send  him  a 
broom  to  sweep  a  crossin'."  I  was 
nearly  going  to  say,  "  This  was  a 
piece  of  generosity  to  be  expected 
from  yonr  father's  son  "  ;  but  the  fact 
is,  that  I  did  not  think  of  this  wither- 
ing repartee  until  I  was  crossing  St. 
James's  Park  on  my  way  home,  when 
Twysden  of  course  was  out  of  ear-shot. 
A  great  numljer  of  my  Iwst  witticisms 
have  been  a  little  late  in  making  their 
appearance  in  the  world.  If  we  could 
but  hear  the  M?ispoken  jokes,  how  we 
should  all  laugh  ;  if  we  could  but 
speak  t!iem,  how  witty  we  should  be  ! 
When  you  have  left  the  room,  you 
have  no  notion  what  clever  things  I 
was  going  to  say  when  you  balked 
me  by  going  away.  Well,  then,  the 
fact  is,  the  Twysdcn's  fiimily  gave 
Philip  nothing  on  his  marriage,  being 
the  exact  sum  of  regard  whicli  they 
professed  to  have  for  him. 

Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  gave 
the  bride  an  Indian  brooch,  represent- 
ing the  Taj  Mahal  at  Agra  which  Gen- 
eral Baynes  had  given  to  his  sister-in- 
law  in  old  days.  At  a  later  period,  it 
is  true,  Mrs.  Mac  asked  Charlotte  for 
the  brooch  back  again  ;  but  this  was 
when  many  family  quarrels  had 
raged  between  the  relatives,  —  quar- 
rels which  to  describe  at  length 
would  be  to  tax  too  much  the  writer 
and  the  readers  of  this  history. 

Mrs.  Mugford  presented  an  ele- 
gant plated  coflFeepot,  six  drawing- 
room  almanacs  (spoils  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette),  and  fourteen  richly 
16* 


cut  jelly-glasses,  most  useful  for  ne- 
gus if  the  young  couple  gave  evening- 
parties,  which  dinners  they  would  not 
be  able  to  attbrd. 

Mrs.  Praxdon  made  an  offering 
of  two  table-cloths  and  twelve  dinner 
napkins,  most  beautifully  worked, 
and  I  don't  know  how  much  house 
linen. 

The  Lady  of  th*:  Present 
Writer  —  Twelve  teaspoons  iii  bul- 
lion, and  a  ])air  of  sugar-tongs.  Mrs. 
Baynes,  Philip's  mother-in-law,  sent 
him  also  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  of  a 
light  manufacture,  easily  broken.  Ho 
keeps  a  tong  to  the  present  day,  and 
speaks  very  satirically  regarding  that 
relic. 

Philip's  Inn  of  Court  —  A  bill 
for  commons  and  Inn  taxes,  with  the 
Treasurer's  compliments. 

And  these,  I  think,  formed  the 
items  of  poor  little  Charlotte's  mea- 
gre trousseau.  Before  Cinderella 
went  to  the  i)all  she  was  almost  as  rich 
as  our  little  maid.  Charlotte's  mother 
sent  a  grim  consent  to  the  child's  mar- 
riage, but  declined  her.self  to  attend  it. 
She  was  ailing  and  poor.  Her  year's 
widowhood  was  just  over.  She  had 
her  other  children  to  look  after.  My 
impression  is  that  Mrs.  Baynes 
thought  that  she  could  be  out  of  I'hil- 
ip's  power  so  long  as  she  remained 
abroad,  and  that  the  General's  savings 
woidd  be  secure  from  him.  So  she 
delegated  her  authority  to  Philip's 
friends  in  London,  and  sent  her 
daughter  a  moderate  wish  for  her 
happiness,  which  may  or  may  not 
have  profited  the  young  people. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  are  rich,  com- 
pared to  what  I  was,  when  I  married," 
little  Mrs.  Brandon  said  to  her  young 
friend.  "  You  will  have  a  good  hus- 
band. That  is  more  than  I  had. 
You  will  have  good  friends  ;  and  I 
was  almost  alone  for  a  time,  until  it 
pleased  God  to  befriend  me."  It  was 
not  without  a  feeling  of  awe  that  we 
saw  these  young  people  commence 
that  voyage  of  life  on  which  hence- 
forth they  were  to  journey  together; 
and  I  am  sure  that  of  the  small  com- 


346 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


panj  who  accompanied  them  to  the 
silent  little  chapel  where  they  were 
joined  in  marriage  there  was  not  one 
who  dill  not  follow  them  with  tender 
good  wishes  and  heartfelt  prayers. 
They  had  a  Ijttle  purse  provided  for 
a  month's  holiday.  They  liad  health, 
hope,  good  spirits,  good  friends.  I 
have  never  learned  that  life's  trials 
were  over  after  marriage  ;  only  lucky 
is  he  who  has  a  loving  companion  to 
share  them.  As  for  the  lady  with 
whom  Charlotte  had  stayed  before  her 
marriage,  she  was  in  a  state  of  the 
most  lachrymose  sentimentality.  She 
sat  on  the  bed  in  the  chamber  which 
the  little  maid  had  vacated.  Her 
tears  flowed  copiously.  She  knew 
not  why,  siie  could  not  tell  how  the 
girl  had  wound  herself  round  her  ma- 
ternal heart.  And  I  think  if  Heaven 
had  decreed  this  young  creature 
should  be  poor,  it  had  sent  her  many 
blessings  and  treasures  in  compensa- 
tion. 

Every  respectable  man  and  woman 
in  London  will,  of  course,  pity  these 
young  people,  and  reprobate  the  mad 
risk  which  they  were  running,  and 
yet  by  the  influence  and  example  of  a 
sentimental  wife  probably,  so  madly 
sentimental  have  I  become,  that  I 
own  sometimes  I  almost  fancy  these 
misguided  wretches  are  to  be  envied. 

A  melancholy  little  chapel  it  is 
where  they  were  married,  and  stands 
hard  by  our  house.  We  did  not  deco- 
rate the  cliurch  with  flowers,  or  adorn 
the  beadles  with  white  ribbons.  We 
had,  I  must  confess,  a  dreary  little 
breakfast,  not  in  the  least  enlivened 
by  Mugford's  jokes,  who  would  make 
a  speech  de  circonstance,  which  was 
not,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  reported  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  '"  We  sha'  n't 
charge  you  for  advertising  the  mar- 
riage there,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Mugford 
said.  "  And  I  've  already  took  it 
myself  to  Mr.  Burjoyce."  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  had  insisted  upon  pinning  a  large 
white  favor  upon  John,  who  drove 
her  from  Hampstead :  but  that  was 
the  only  ornament  present  at  the 
nuptial  ceremony,   much  to  the  dis- 


appointment of  the  good  lady.  There 
was  a  very  pretty  cake,  with  two 
doves  in  sugar,  on  the  top,  which  the 
Little  Sister  made  and  sent,  and  no 
other  hymeneal  emblem.  Our  little 
girls  as  bridesmaids  appeared,  to  be 
sure,  in  new  bonnets  and  dresses,  but 
everybody  else  looked  so  quiet  and 
demure,  that  when  we  went  into  the 
church,  three  or  four  street  urchins 
knocking  about  the  gate,  said,  "  Look 
at  'em,  they  're  going  to  be  'ung." 
And  so  the  words  are  spoken,  and 
the  indissoluble  knot  is  tied.  Amen. 
For  better,  for  worse,  for  good  days 
or  evil,  love  each  other,  cling  to  each 
other,  dear  friends.  Fulfil  your  course, 
and  accomplish  your  life's  toil.  In 
sorrow  soothe  each  other  ;  in  illness, 
watch  and  tend.  Cheer,  fond  wife, 
the  husband's  struggle ;  lighten  his 
gloomy  hours  with  your  tender 
smiles,  and  gladden  his  home  with 
your  love.  Husband,  father,  whatso- 
ever your  lot,  be  your  heart  pure, 
your  life  honest.  For  the  sake  of 
"those  who  bear  your  name,  let  no  bad 
action  sully  it.  As  you  look  at  those 
innocent  faces  which  ever  tenderly 
gi-eet  you,  be  yours,  too,  innocent, 
and  your  conscience  without  reproach. 
As  the  young  people  kneel  before  the 
altar-railing,  some  such  thoughts  as 
these  pass  through  a  friend's  mind 
who  witnesses  the  ceremony  of  their 
marriage.  Is  not  all  we  hear  in  that 
place  meant  to  apply  to  ourselves, 
and  to  be  carried  away  for  every-day 
cogitation  1 

After  the  ceremony  we  sign  the 
book,  and  walk  back  demurely  to 
breakfast.  And  Mrs.  Mugford  does 
not  conceal  her  disaj)])ointment  at  the 
small  preparations  made  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  marriage  party.  "  I 
call  it  shabby,  Brandon  ;  and  I  speak 
my  mind.  No  favors.  Only  your 
cake.  No  speeches  to  speak  of.  No 
lobster-salad :  and  wine  on  the  side- 
Ixjard.  I  thought  your  Queen  Square 
friends  knew  how  to  do  the  thing 
Ixitter  !  When  one  of  my  gurls  is 
married,  I  promise  you  we  sha'  n't  let 
her  go  out  of  the  back  door ;  and  at 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


347 


least  we  shall  have  the  best  four  p^rays 
that  Newman's  can  furnish.  It  's  my 
belief  your  young  friend  is  getting  too 
fond  of  money,  Brandon,  and  so  I 
have  told  Mugford."  But  these,  you 
sec,  were  only  questions  of  taste. 
Good  Mrs.  Mugfbrd's  led  her  to  a 
green  satin  dress  and  a  pink  turban, 
when  other  ladies  were  in  gray 
or  quiet  colors.  The  intimacy  be- 
tween our  two  families  dwindled  im- 
mediately after  Philip's  marriage  ; 
Mrs.  M.,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  setting 
us  down  as  shabby-genteel  people, 
and  she  could  n't  bear  screwing,  — 
never  could  ! 

Well :  the  speeches  were  spoken. 
The  bride  was  kissed,  and  departed 
with  her  bridegroom  :  they  had  not 
even  &  valet  and  lady's-maid  to  bear 
them  company.  The  route  of  the  hap- 
py pair  was  to  be  Canterbury,  Folke- 
stone, Boulogne,  Amiens,  Paris,  and 
Italy  perhaps,  if  their  little  stock  of 
pocket-money  would  serve  them  so  far. 
But  the  very  instant  when  half  was 
spent,  it  was  agreed  that  these  young 
people  should  turn  their  faces  home- 
ward again  ;  and  meanwhile  the  prin- 
ter and  Mugford  himself  agreed  that 
they  would  do  Mr.  Sub-editor's  duty. 
How  much  had  they  in  the  little  purse 
for  their  pleasure  journey  ?  That  is 
no  business  of  ours  surely ;  but 
with  youth,  health,  happiness,  love, 
amongst  their  possessions,  I  don't 
think  our  young  friends  had  need  to 
be  discontented.  Away  then  they 
drive  in  their  cab  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion. Farewell,  and  Heaven  bless 
you,  Charlotte  and  Philip !  I  have 
said  how  I  found  my  wife  crying  in 
her  favorite's  vacant  bedroom.  The 
marriage  table  did  coldly  furnish 
forth  a  funeral  kind  of  dinner.  The 
cold  chicken  choked  us  all,  and 
the  jelly  was  but  a  sickly  compound 
to  my  taste,  though  it  was  the  Little 
Sister's  most  artful  manufacture.  I 
own  for  one  I  was  quite  miserable.  I 
found  no  comfort  at  clubs,  nor  could 
the  last  new  novel  fix  my  attention. 
I  saw  Philip's  eyes,  and  heard  the 
warble  of  Charlotte's  sweet  voice.     I 


walked  off  from  "  Bays's, "  and 
through  Old  Parr  Street,  where 
Philip  had  lived,  and  his  parents 
entertained  me  as  a  boy;  and  then 
tramped  to  Thornhaugh  Street,  rather 
ashamed  of  myself  The  maid  said 
mistress  was  in  Mr.  Philip's  rooms, 
the  two  pair,  —  and  what  was  that  I 
heard  on  the  piano  as  I  entered  the 
apartment  ?  Mrs.  Brandon  sat  there 
heuiniing  some  chintz  window-cur- 
tains, or  bed-curtains,  or  what  not  : 
by  her  side  sat  my  own  eldest  girl 
stitching  away  very  resolutely ;  and 
at  the  piano  —  the  piano  which  Phil- 
ip had  bought  —  there  sat  my  own 
wife  picking  out  that  "  Dream  of 
Saint  Jerome,"  of  Beethoven,  which 
Charlotte  used  to  play  so  delicately. 
We  had  tea  out  of  Philip's  tea-things, 
and  a  nice  hot  cake,  Avhich  consoled 
some  of  us.  But  I  have  known  few 
evenings  more  melancholy  than  that. 
It  felt  like  the  first  night  at  school 
after  the  holidays,  when  we  all  used 
to  try  and  appear  cheerful,  you  know. 
But  ah  !  how  dismal  the  gayety 
was  ;  and  how  dreary  that  lying 
awake  in  the  night,  and  thinking  of 
the  happy  days  just  over  ! 

The  way  in  which  we  looked  for- 
ward for  letters  from  our  bride  and 
bridegroom  was  quite  a  curiosity. 
At  length  a  letter  arrived  from  these 
personages  :  and  as  it  contains  no 
secret,  I  take  the  liberty  to  print  it  in 
extenso. 

"Amiens,  Friday.  Paris,  Saturday. 
"Dearest  Friends,  —  (For  the 
dearest  friends  you  are  to  us,  and 
will  continue  to  be  as  long  as  we  live) 
—  We  perform  our  promise  of  writing 
to  you  to  say  that  we  are  weJl,  and 
safe,  and  happy!  Philip  says  I  must 
n't  use  dashes,  but  I  can't  help  it!  He 
says,  he  supposes  I  am  clashing  off  a 
letter.  You  know  his  joking  way. 
O,  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  see  him  so 
happy.  And  if  he  is  happy  I  am.  I 
tremble  to  think  how  happy.  He  sits 
opposite  me,  smoking  his  cigar,  look- 
ing so  noble!  [  hke  it,  and  I  went 
to  our  room  and  brought  him  this  one 


348 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


He  says,  '  Char,  if  I  were  to  say  bring 
me  your  head,  you  would  order  a 
waiter  to  cut  it  off.'  Pray,  did  I  not 
promise  three  days  ago  to  love,  hon- 
or, and  obey  him,  and  am  I  going  to 
break  my  promise  already  ?  I  hope 
not.  I  fray  not.  All  my  life  I  hope 
I  shall  be  trying  to  keep  that  promise 
of  mine.  We  liked  Canterbury  al- 
most as  much  as  dear  Westminster. 
We  had  an  open  carriage  and  took  a 
gbriiius  drive  to  Folkestone,  and  in  the 
crossing  Philip  was  ill,  and  I  was  n't. 
And  he  looked  very  droll ;  and  he 
was  in  a  dreadful  bad  humor ;  and 
that  w.is  iriy  first  appearance  as 
nurse.  I  think  I  should  like  him  to 
be  a  little  ill  sometimes,  so  that  I  may 
sit  up  and  take  care  of  him.  We 
went  through  the  cords  at  the  cus- 
tom-house at  Boulogne  ;  and  I  re- 
member how,  two  years  ago,  I  passed 
through  those  very  cords  with  my 
poor  papa,  and  he  stood  outside,  and 
saw  us !  We  went  to  the  '  Hotel  dcs 
Bains.'  We  walked  about  the  town. 
We  went  to  the  Tintelleries,  where 
we  used  to  live,  and  to  your  liouse  in 
the  Haute  Ville,  where  I  remember 
everything  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  Don 't 
you  remember,  as  we  were  walking 
one  day,  you  said,  '  Charlotte,  there 
is  the  steamer  coming  ;  there  is  the 
smoke  of  his  funnel ' ;  and  I  said, 
'  Whatsteamer  ?  '  and  you  said,  '  Tiie 
Philip,  to  be  sure.'  And  he  came  up, 
smoking  his  pipe !  We  passed  over 
and  over  the  old  ground  where  we 
used  to  walk.  We  went  to  the  pier, 
ami  gave  money  to  the  jX)or  little 
hunchback  who  plays  the  guitar,  and 
he  said,  '  Meici,  madaitie.'  How  droll 
it  soundud  !  And  that  good  kind 
Alaiie  at  the  ' Hotel  des  Bains '  re- 
membered us,  and  called  us  '  mes 
eiifuiis.'  And  if  you  were  not  the 
most  good-naturc'l  woman  in  the 
toor/d,  I  tliink  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  write  such  nonsense. 

"  Think  of  Mrs.  Brandon  having 
knitted  me  a  purse,  which  she  gave 
me  as  we  went  away  from  dear,  dear 
Queen  Square ;  and  when  I  opened 
it.  there  were  five  sovereigns  in  it ! 


When  we  foundwhat  the  purse  con- 
tained, Philip  used  one  of  his  great 
juroiis  (as  he  always  does  when  he  is 
most  tender-hearted),  and  he  said  that 
woman  was  an  angel,  and  that  we 
would  keep  those  five  sovereigns, 
and  never  change  them.  Ah  !  I 
am  thankful  my  husband  has  such 
friends  !  I  will  love  all  who  love 
him,  —  you  most  of  all.  For  were 
not  you  the  means  of  bringing  this 
noble  heart  to  me  ?  I  fancy  1  have 
known  I'iyyer  people,  since  I  have 
known  you,  and  some  of  your  friends. 
Their  talk  is  simpler,  their  thoughts 
are  greater  than  —  those  with  whom 
I  used  to  live.  P.  says.  Heaven  has 
given  Mrs.  Brandon  such  a  great 
lieart,  that  she  must  have  a  good  in- 
tellect. If  loving  my  Philip  be  wis-  l 
dom,  I  know  some  one  who  will  be  j 
very  wise  ! 

"  If  I  was  not  in  a  very  great  hurry 
to  see  mamma.  Philip  said  we  might 
stop  a  day  at  Amiens.  And  we  went 
to  the  Cathedral,  .and  to  whom  do  , 
you  think  it  is  dedicated  ?  to  my 
saint :  to  Saint  Firmix  !  and  oh  !  I 
prayed  to  Heaven  to  give  me  strength 
to  devote  my  life  to  tiiy  saint's  service, 
to  love  him  always,  as  a  pure,  true 
wife  :  in  sickness  to  guard  him,  in 
sorrow  to  soothe  him.  I  will  try  and 
learn  and  study,  not  to  make  my  in- 
tellect equal  to  his,  —  very  few  women 
can  hope  for  that,  —  but  that. I  may 
better  comprehend  him,  and  give  him 
a  companion  more  worthy  of  him.  I 
wonder  whether  there  are  many  men 
in  the  world  as  clever  as  our  hus- 
bands ?  Though  Philip  is  so  modest.  • 
He  says  he  is  not  clever  at  all.  Yet 
I  know  he  is,  and  grander  souieliow 
than  other  men.  I  said  nothing,  but 
I  used  to  listen  at  Queen  Square ; 
and  some  who  came  who  thought 
best  of  themselves  seemed  to  me  pert, 
and  worldly,  and  small ;  and  some 
were  like  princes  somehow.  My 
Philip  itf  one  of  the  princes.  Ah, 
dear  friend  !  may  I  not  give  thanks 
where  thanks  arc  due,  that  I  am 
chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  a  true  gen- 
tleman ?     Kind,  and  brave,  and  loyal 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


349 


Philip  !  Honest  and  generous,  — 
above  deceit  or  selfish  sclieme.  Oh  ! 
I  hope  it  is  not  wrong  to  be  so 
happy  ! 

"  We  wrote  to  mamma  and  dear 
Madame  Smolensk  to  say  we  were 
coming.  Mamma  tinds  Madame 
de  Valentinois'  boarding-house  even 
dearer  than  dear  Madame  Smolensk's. 
I  don't  mean  a  pun  !  She  snys  she 
has  found  out  that  Madame  de  Valen- 
tinois' I'eal  name  is  Cornichon  ;  that 
she  was  a  person  of  the  worst  charac- 
ter, and  that  cheating  at  e'carte  was 
Eractised  at  her  house.  She  took  up 
er  own  two  francs  and  another  two- 
franc  piece  from  the  card-table,  say- 
ing that  Colonel  Boulotte  was  cheat- 
ing, and  by  rights  the  money  was 
hers.  She  is  going  to  leave  Madame 
de  Valentinois  at  the  end  of  her 
month,  or  as  soon  as  our  children, 
who  have  the  measles,  can  move. 
She  desired  that  on  no  account  I 
would  come  to  see  her  at  Madame 
V.'s ;  and  she  brought  Philip  £12 
10  s.  in  five-franc  pieces,  which  she 
laid  down  on  the  table  before  him,  and 
said  it  was  my  first  quarter's  payment. 
It  is  not  due  yet,  I  know.  '  But  do 
you  think  I  will  be  beholden,'  says 
she,  '  to  a  man  like  you  ! '  And  P. 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  put  the 
rouleau  of  silver  pieces  into  a  drawer. 
He  did  not  say  a  word,  but,  of  course, 
I  saw  he  was  ill  pleased.  '  What 
shall  we  do  with  your  fortune.  Char  V 
he  said,  when  mamma  went  away. 
And  a  part  we  spent  at  the  opera  and 
at  Very's  restaurant,  where  we  took 
our  dear  kind  Madame  Smolensk. 
Ah,  how  good  that  woman  was  to 
me !  Ah,  how  I  suffered  in  that 
house  wlien  mamma  wanted  to  part 
me  from  Philip !  We  walked  by 
and  saw  the  windows  of  the  room 
where  that  horril)le,  horrible  tragedy  \ 
was  performed,  and  Philip  shook  his  j 
fist  at  the  green  jalousies.  '  Good  | 
Heavens  ! '  he  said  :  '  how,  my  dar-  j 
ling,  how  I  was  made  to  suffer  there  ! '  j 
I  bear  no  malice.  I  will  do  no  injury.  ' 
But  I  can  never  forgive :  never !  I  \ 
can  forgive  mamma,  who  made  my 


husband  so  unhappy  ;  but  can  I  love 
her  again  ?  Indeed  and  indeed  I  have 
tried.  Often  and  often  in  my  dreams 
that  horrid  tragedy  is  acted  over 
again  ;  and  they  are  taking  him  from 
me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die. 
When  I  was  with  you  I  used  often 
to  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  of 
that  dreadful  dream,  and  I  kept  one 
of  his  letters  under  my  pillow  so  that 
I  might  hold  it  in  the  night.  And 
now  !  No  one  can  part  us  !  —  O, 
no  one  !  —  until  the  end  comes  ! 

"  He  took  me  about  to  all  his  old 
bachelor  haunts  ;  to  the  '  Hotel  Pous- 
sin,'  where  he  used  to  live,  which  is 
very  dingy  but  comfortable.  And  he 
introduced  me  to  the  landlady,  in  a 
Madras  handkerchief,  and  to  the 
landlord  (in  ear-rings  and  with  no 
coat  on),  and  to  the  little  boy  who 
frotles  the  floors.  And  he  said, 
'  Tiens '  and  '  merci,  luadume !  '  as  we 
gave  him  a  five-franc  piece  out  of  my 
fortune.  And  then  we  went  to  the 
cafe  opposite  the  Bourse,  where  Philip 
used  to  write  his  letters ;  and  then 
we  went  to  the  Palais  Koyal,  where 
Madame  de  Smolensk  was  in  waiting 
for  us.  And  then  we  went  to  the 
play.  And  then  we  went  to  Tor- 
toni's  to  take  ices.  And  then  we 
walked  a  part  of  the  way  home  with 
Madame  Smolensk  under  a  hundred 
million  blazing  stars  ;  and  then  we 
walked  down  the  Champs  Elysces 
avenues,  by  which  Philip  used  to 
come  to  me,  and  beside  the  plashing 
fountains  shining  under  the  silver 
inoon.  And,  O  Laura !  I  wonder 
under  the  silver  moon  was  anybody 
so  iiappy  as  your  locimj  and  (p-atej'ul 
"  C.  F. 

"  P.  S."  fin  the  handwriting  of 
Philip  Firmin,  Esq.]  —  "  My  de.\r 
Fkiexds, — I  'm  so  jolly  that  it 
seems  like  a  dream.  I  have  been 
watching  Charlotte  scribble,  scribble 
for  an  hour  past ;  and  wondered  and 
thought  is  it  actually  true  1  and 
gone  and  convinced  myself  of  the 
truth  by  looking  at  the  paper  and  the 
dashes  "which  she  will  put  under  the 


350 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


words.  My  dear  friends,  what  have  I 
done  in  life  that  I  am  to  be  made 
a  present  of  a  little  angel ''  Once 
there  was  so  much  wrong  in  me,  and 
my  heart  was  so  black,  and  revenge- 
ful, that  I  knew  not  what  might  hap- 
pen to  me.  She  came  and  rescued 
me.  The  love  of  this  creature  puri- 
fies me,  —  and  —  and  I  think  that  is 
all.  I  think  I  only  want  to  say  that 
I  am  the  happiest  man  in  Europe. 
That  Saint  Firrain  at  Amiens ! 
Did  n't  it  seem  like  a  good  omen  ? 
By  St.  George!  I  never  heard  of 
St.  F.  until  I  lighted  on  him  in 
the  cathedral.  When  shall  we  write 
next?  Where  shall  we  tell  you  to 
direct?  We  don't  know  where  we 
are  going.  We  don't  want  letters. 
But  we  are  not  the  less  grateful  to 
dear  kind  friends;  and  our  names 
are  P.  and  C  F." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

DESCRIBES      A      SITUATION      INTER 
ESTING    BUT   NOT    UNEXPECTED. 

Only  very  wilful  and  silly  children 
cry  after  the  raoon.  Sensible  people 
who  have  shed  their  sweet  tooth  can't 
be  expected  to  be  very  much  inter- 
ested about  money.  We  may  hope 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  enjoyed 
a  pleasant  wedding  tour  and  that  sort 
of  thing :  but  as  for  chronicling  its 
delights  or  adventures,  .Miss  Sowerby 
and  I  vote  that  the  task  is  altogether 
needless  and  immoral.  Young  people 
are  already  much  too  sentimental, 
and  inclined  to  idle,  maudlin  reading. 
Life  is  earnest.  Miss  Sowerby  re- 
marks (with  a  strong  inclination  to 
spell  "  earnest "  with  a  large  E ).  Life 
is  labor.  Life  is  duty.  Life  is  rent. 
Life  is  taxes.  Life  brings  its  ills, 
bills,  doctor's  pills.  Life  is  not  a 
mere  calendar  of  honey  and  moon- 
shine. Very  good.  But  without  love 
Miss  Sowerby,  life  is  just  death,  and 
I  know,  my  dear,  you  would  "-o  more 
care  to  go  on  with  it,  than  with  a 
new  chapter  of — of  our  dear  friend 
Boreham's  new  story.    , 


I  Between  ourselves,  Philip's  hu- 
mor is  not  much  more  lightsome 
than    that    of    the     ingenious    con- 

j  temporary  above   named  ;  but    if   it 

I  served   to  amuse  Philip  himself,  why 

I  balk  him  of  a  little  sport  ?  Well 
then :   he  wrote  us  a  great  ream  of 

I  lumbering  pleasantries,  dated  Paris, 
Thursday ;  Geneva,  Saturday.     Sum- 

j  mit  of  Mont  Blanc,  Monday ;  Tim- 
buctoo,  Wednesday.     Pekin,  Friday, 

I  — with  facetious  descriptions  of  those 
spots  and  cities.  He  said  that  in 
the     last-named     place,     Charlotte's 

'  slices   being   worn   out,    those  which 

i  she  purchased  were  rather  tight  for 
her,  and  the  high  heels  annoyed 
her.  He  stated  that  the  beef  at 
Timbuctoo    was   not  cooked  enough 

'  for  Charlotte's  taste,  and  that  the 
Emperor's  attentions  were  becoming 
rather  marked,  and  so  forth  ;  where- 
as poor  little  Char's  simple  post- 
scripts mentioned  no  travelling  at 
all;  but  averred  that  they  were 
staying  at  Saint  Germain,  and  as 
happy  as  the  day  was  long.  As 
ha|)py  as  the  day  was  long  ?  As 
it  was  short,  al  is  !  Their  little  purse 
was  very  skn.lerly  furnished ;  and 
in  a  very,  very  brief  holiday,  poor 
Philip's  few  napoleons  had  almost 
all  rolled  away.  Luckily,  it  was  pay- 
day when  the  young  people  came 
back  to  London.  They  were  almost 
reduced  to  the  Little  Sister's  wedding 
present :  and  surely  they  would  ratlx  r 
work  than  purchase  a  few  hours' 
more  ease  with  that  poor  widow's 
mite. 

Who  talked  and  was  afraid  of  pov- 
erty? Philip,  with  his  two  newspa- 
pers, averred  that  he  had  enough  ;  more 
than  enough;  could  save;  could  put 
by.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ridley, 
the  Academician,  painted  that  sweet 
picture,  No.  1,976,  —  of  course  you  re 
member  it,  — '  Portrait  of  a  Lady.' 
He  became  romantically  attached  to 
the  second-floor  lodger ;  would  have 
no  noisj'  parties  in  his  rooms,  or  smok- 
insr,  lest  it  should  annoy  her.  Would 
Mrs.  Firmin  desire  to  give  entertain- 
ments of  her  own  1    His  studio  and 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


351 


sitting-room  were  at  her  orders.  He 
fetched  and  carried,  lie  brouj:;ht  pres- 
ents, and  theatre-boxes.  He  was  her 
slave  of  slaves.  And  she  gave  him 
back  in  return  for  all  this  romantic 
adoration  a  condescending  shake  of 
a  soft  little  hand,  and  a  kind  look  from 
a  pair  of  soft  eyes,  with  which  the 
painter  was  fain  to  be  content.  Low 
of  sta^ture,  and  of  misshapen  form,  J. 
J.  thought  himself  naturally  outcast 
from  marriage  and  love,  and  looked 
in  with  longing  eyes  at  the  paradise 
which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter. 
And  Mr.  Philip  sat  within  this  Palace 
of  Delight ;  and  lolled  at  his  ease,  and 
took  his  pleasure,  and  Charlotte 
ministered  to  him.  And  once  in  a 
way,  my  lord  sent  out  a  crumb  of 
kindness,  or  a  little  cup  of  comfort,  to 
the  outcast  at  the  gate,  who  blessed 
his  benefactress,  and  my  lord  his 
benefactor,  and  was  thankful.  Char- 
lotte had  not  twopence  :  but  she  had 
a  little  court.  It  was  the  fashion  for 
Philip's  friends  to  come  and  bow 
before  her.  Very  fine  gentlemen  who 
had  known  him  at  college,  and  forgot 
him,  or  sooth  to  say,  thought  him 
rough  and  overbearing,  now  suddenly 
remembered  him,  and  his  young  wife 
had  quite  fashionable  assemblies  at 
her  five  o'clock  tea-table.  All  men 
liked  her,  and  Miss  Sowerby  of  course 
says  Mrs.  Firmin  was  a  good-natured, 
quite  harmless  little  woman,  rather 
pretty,  and  —  you  know,  my  dear  — 
such  as  men  like.  Look  you,  if  I  like 
cold  veal,  dear  Sowerby,  it  is  that  my 
tastes  are  simple.  A  fine  tough  old 
dry  camel,  no  doubt,  is  a  much  nobler 
and  more  sagacious  animal, —  and 
perhaps  you  think  a  double  hump  is 
quite  a  delicacy. 

Yes  :  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  success. 
She  had  scarce  any  female  friends  as 
yet,  being  too  poor  to  go  into  the 
world  :  but  she  had  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
and  dear  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  and 
Mrs.  Mugford,  whose  celebrated  trap 
repeatedly  brought  delicacies  for  the 
bride  from  Hamj)Stead,' whose  chaise 
was  once  or  twice  a  week  at  Philip's 
door,  and  who  was  very  much  exer- 


cised anil  impressed  by  the  fine  com- 
pany whom  she  met  in  Mrs.  Firmin's 
apartments.  "  Lord  Thingambury's 
card  !  what  next,  Brandon,  upon  my 
word  ?  Lady  Slowby  at  home  ?  well, 
1  never,  Mrs.  B.  !  "  In  such  artless 
phrases  Mrs.  Mugford  would  exj)ress 
her  admiration  and  astonishment 
during  the  early  time,  and  when 
Charlotte  still  retained  the  good 
lady's  favor.  That  a  state  of  things 
far  less  agreeable  ensued,  I  must  own. 
But  though  there  is  ever  so  small  a 
cloud  in  the  sky  even  now,  let  us  not 
heed  it  for  a  while,  and  bask  and  be 
content  and  happy  in  the  sunshine. 
"  0  Laura,  I  tremble  when  I  think 
how  happy  I  am  ! "  was  our  little 
•  bird's  perpetual  warble.  "  How  did  I 
live  when  I  was  at  home  with  mam- 
ma 1  "  she  would  say.  "  Do  you 
know  that  Philip  never  even  scolds 
me  1  If  he  were  to  say  a  rough  word 
I  think  I  should  die  ;  whereas  mamma 
was  barking,  barking  from  morning 
till  night,  and  I  did  n't  care  a  pin." 
This  is  what  comes  of  injudicious 
scolding,  as  of  any  other  drug.  The 
wholesome  medicine  loses  its  effect. 
The  inured  patient  calmly  takes  a 
dose  that  would  frighten  or  kill  a 
stranger.  Poor  Mrs.  Baynes's  crossed 
letters  came  still,  and  1  am  not  pre- 
pared to  pledge  my  M-ord  that  Char- 
lotte read  them  all.  Mrs.  B.  offered 
to  come  and  superintend  and  take 
care  of  dear  Philip  when  an  interest- 
ing event  should  take  place.  But 
Mrs.  Brandon ,  was  already  engaged 
for  this  important  occasion,  and 
Charlotte  became  so  alarmed  lest  her 
mother  should  invade  her,  that  Philip 
wrote  curtly,  and  positively  forbade 
Mrs.  Baynes.  You  remember  the 
picture  '"'  A  Cradle  "  by  J.  J.  1  the 
two  little  rosy  feet  brought  I  don't 
know  how  many  hundred  guineas 
apiece  to  Mr.  Ridley.  The  mother 
herself  did  not  study  babydom  more 
fondly  and  devotedly  than'  liidley  did 
in  the  ways,  looks,  features,  anatomies, 
attitudes,  baby-clothes,  &c.  of  this  first- 
born infant  of  Charlotte  and  Philip 
Firmin.     My  wife  is  very  angry  be- 


352 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


cause  I  have  forj^otten  whether  the  first 
of  tlie  young  Firmin  brood  was  a  boy 
or  a  girl,  and  says  I  shall  forget  the 
names  of  my  own  children  next. 
Well "?  "  At  this  distance  of  time,  I 
think  it  was  a  boy,  —  for  their  boy  \& 
very  tall,  you  know,  —  a  great  deal 
taller  —  Not  a  boy  ?  Then,  between 
ourselves,  I  have  no  doubt  it  was 
a  — "  "A  goose,"  says  the  lady, 
which  is  not  even  reasonable. 

This  is  certain,  we  all  thought  the 
young  mother  looked  very  pretty, 
with  her  pink  cheeks  and  beaming 
eyes,  as  she  bent  over  the  little  infant. 
J.  J.  says  he  thinks  there  is  some- 
thing heuoenli/  in  the  looks  of  young 
mothers  at  that  time.  Nay,  he  goes 
so  far  as  to  declare  that  a  tigress  at 
the  Zoological  Gardens  looks  beauti- 
ful and  gentle  as  she  bends  her  black 
nozzle  over  her  cubs.  And  if  a 
tigress,  why  not  Mrs.  Philip  ?  O  ye 
powers  of  sentiment,  in  what  a  state 
J.  J.  was  about  this  young  woman  ! 
There  is  a  brightness  in  a  young 
mother's  eye :  there  are  pearl  and 
rose  tints  on  her  cheek,  which  are 
sure  to  fascinate  a  painter.  This  art- 
ist used  to  hang  about  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's rooms,  till  it  was  droll  to  see 
him,  I  believe  he  took  off  his  shoes 
in  his  own  studio,  so  as  not  to  dis- 
turb by  his  creaking  the  lady  over- 
head. He  purchased  the  most  pre- 
posterous mug,  and  other  presents 
for  the  infant.  Philip  went  out  to 
his  club  or  his  newspaper  as  he  was 
ordered  to  do.  But  Mr.  J.  J.  could 
not  be  got  away  from  Thornhaugh 
Street,  so  that  little  Mrs.  Brandon 
laughed  at  him  :  —  absolutely  laughed 
at  him. 

During  all  this  Avhile  Philip  and 
his  wife  continued  in  the  very  greatest 
favor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugfbrd, 
and  were  invited  by  that  worthy 
couple  to  go  with  their  infant  to 
Mugford's  villa  at  Hampstead,  where 
a  cliange  of  air  might  do  good  to 
dear  baby  and  dear  mamma.  Philip 
went  to  this  village  retreat.  Streets 
and  terraces  now  cover  over  tlie 
house  and  grounds    which    worthy 


Mugford  inhabited,  and  which  people 
say  he  used  to  call  his  Russian  Irby. 
He  had  amassed  in  a  small  space  a 
heap  of  country  pleasures.  He  had 
a  little  garden  ;  a  little  paddock ;  a 
little  greenhouse ;  a  little  cucumber- 
frame  ;  a  little  stable  for  his  little 
trap ;  a  little  Guernsey  cow ;  a  little 
dairy ;  a  little  pigsty ;  and  with  this 
little  treasure  the  good  man  was  not 
a  little  content.  He  loved  and  prais- 
ed everything  that  was  his.  No  man 
admired  his  own  port  more  than 
Mugford,  or  paid  more  compliments 
to  his  own  butter  and  home-baked 
bread.  He  enjoyed  his  own  happi- 
ness. He  appreciated  his  own  worth. 
He  loved  to  talk  of  the  days  when  he 
was  a  poor  boy  on  London  streets,  and 
now  —  "  Now  try  that  glass  of  port, 
my  boy,  and  say  whether  the  Lord 
Mayor  has  got  any  better,"  he  would 
say,  winking  at  his  glass  and  his 
company.  To  be  virtuous,  to  be 
lucky,  and  constantly  to  think  and 
own  that  you  are  so,  —  is  not  this 
true  happiness  ^  To  sing  hymns  in 
praise  of  liimself  is  a  charming  amuse- 
ment, —  at  least  to  the  performer ; 
and  anybody  who  dined  at  Mugford's 
table  was  pretty  sure  to  hear  some  of 
this  music  after  dinner.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  Philip  did  not  care  for  this 
trumpet-blowing.  He  was  frightfully 
bored  at  Haverstock  Hill :  and  when 
i)ored,  Mr.  Philip  is  not  altogether  an 
agreeable  companion.  He  will  yawn 
in  a  man's  face.  He  will  contradict 
you  freely.  He  will  say  the  mutton 
is  tough,  or  the  wine  not  fit  to  drink  ; 
that  such  and  such  an  orator  is  over- 
rated, and  such  and  such  a  politician 
is  a  fool.  Mugford  and  his  guest  liad 
battles  after  dinner,  had  actually  high 
words.  "  What-hever  is  it,  Mugford  ? 
and  what  were  you  quarrelling  about 
in  the  dining-room  ? "  asks  Mrs. 
Mugford.  "Quarrelling?  It's  only 
the  sub-editor  snoring,"  said  the 
gentleman,  with  a  flushed  face.  "  My 
wine  ain't  good  enough  for  him  ;  and 
now  my  gentleman  must  put  his 
l)oots  upon  a  chair  and  go  to  sleep 
under  my  nose.     He  is  a  cool  hand. 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


353 


and  no  mistake,  Mrs.  M."  At  this 
juncture  poor  little  Char  would  s^ently 
glide  down  from  a  visit  to  her  baby  : 
and  would  play  somethinj^  on  the 
piano,  and  soothe  the  rising  anger ; 
and  thus  Philip  would  come  in  from 
1  little  walk  in  the  shrubberies,  wliere 
he  had  been  blowing  a  little  cloud. 
Ah  !  there  was  a  little  cloud  rising 
indeed  :  —  quite  a  little  one,  —  nay, 
not  so  little.  When  you  consider 
that  Philip's  bread  depended  on  the 
good-will  of  these  people,  you  will 
allow  that  his  friends  might  be 
anxious  regarding  the  future.  A 
word  from  JVIugford,  and  Philip  and 
■  Charlotte  and  the  child  were  adrift 
on  the  world.  And  these  points  Mr. 
Firmin  would  freely  admit,  while  he 
stood  discoursing  of  his  own  affairs 
(as  he  loved  to  do),  Ins  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  his  back  warming  at  our 
tire. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  says  the  candid 
bridegroom,  "  these  things  are  con- 
stantly in  my  head.  I  used  to  talk 
about  'em  to  Char,  but  I  don't  now. 
They  disturb  her,  the  poor  thing; 
and  she  clutches  hold  of  the  baby ; 
and  —  and  it  tears  my  heart  out  to 
think  that  any  grief  should  come  to 
her.  I  try  and  do  my  best,  my  good 
people,  —  but  when  I  'm  bored  I  can't 
help  showing  I  'm  bored,  don't  you 
see  ?  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite.  No, 
not  for  two  hundred  a  year,  or  for 
twenty  thousand.  You  can't  make  a 
silk  purse  out  of  that  sovv's-ear  of  a 
Mugford.  A  very  good  man.  I  don't 
s^siy  no.  A  good  fiither,  a  good  hus-  j 
band,  a  generous  host,  and  a  most 
tremendous  bore,  and  cad.  Be  agree- 
able to  him?  How  can  I  be  agree- 
able when  I  am  being  killed  1  He 
has  a  storj'  about  Leigh  Hunt  being 
put  into  Newgate,  where  Mugford, 
bringing  him  proof,  saw  Lord  Byron. 
I  cannot  keep  awake  during  that 
story  any  longer;  or,  if  awake,  I 
grind  my  teeth,  and  swear  inwardly, 
so  that  1  know  I'm  dreadful  to  hear 
and  see.  Well,  Mngford  has  yellow 
satin  sofns  in  the '  droaring-room '  —  " 
"  O  Philip !  "    says   a   lady  ;   and  ; 


two  or  three  circumjacent  children  set 
u])  an  insane  giggle,  which  is  speedily 
and  sternly  silenced. 

"  I  tell  you  she  calls  it  '  droaring- 
room.'  You  know  she  does,  as  well 
as  I  do.  She  is  a  good  woman  :  a 
kind  woman  :  a  hot-tempered  woman. 
I  hear  her  scolding  the  servants  in  the 
kitchen  with  immense  vehemence,  and 
at  prodigious  length.  But  how  can 
Char  frankly  be  the  friend  of  a  woman 
who  calls  a  drawing-room  a  droaring- 
room  1  With  our  dear  little  friend  in 
Thornhaugh  Street,  it  is  different. 
She  makes  no  pretence  even  at  equal- 
ity. Here  is  a  patron  and  patroness, 
don't  you  see  ?  When  Mugford  walks 
me  round  his  paddock  and  gardens, 
and  says,  '  Look  year,  Firmin  ' ;  or 
scratches  one  of  his  pigs  on  the  back, 
and  says,  '  We  '11  'ave  a  cut  of  this 
fellow  on  Saturday'"  —  (explosive 
attemps  at  insubordination  and  deris- 
ion on  the  part  of  the  children  again 
are  severely  checked  by  the  parental 
authorities)  —  "'we'll  'ave  a  cut  of 
this  fellow  on  Saturday,'  I  feel  inclined 
to  throw  him  or  myself  into  the  trough 
over  the  palings.  Do  you  know  that 
that  man  put  that  hand  into  his 
pocket  and  offered  me  some  fil- 
berts -?  " 

Here  I  own  the  lady  to  whom 
Philip  was  addressing  himself  turned 
pale  and  shuddered. 

"  I  can  no  more  be  that  man's 
friend  que  celui  du  domestique  qui 
vient  d'apporter  le  what-d'you-call- 
'em  ?  le  coal-scuttle," —  (John  entered 
the  room  with  that  useful  article 
during  Philip's  oration,  —  and  we 
allowed  the  elder  children  to  laugh 
this  time,  for  the  fact  is,  none  of  us 
knew  the  French  for  coal-scuttle,  and 
I  will  wager  there  is  no  such  word  in 
Chambaud).  "'  This  holding  back  is 
not  arrogance,"  Philip  went  on. 
"  This  reticence  is  not  want  of  humil- 
ity. To  serve  that  man  honestly  is 
one  thing  ;  to  make  friends  with  him, 
to  laugh  at  his  dull  jokes,  is  to  make 
friends  with  the  mammon  of  un- 
righteousness, is  subserviency  and 
hypocrisy  on  my  part.  I  ought  to 
W 


354 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


say  to  him,  Mr.  Mugford,  I  will  give 
you  my  work  for  your  wage  ;  I  will 
compile  your  paper,  I  will  produce  an 
agreeable  miscellany  containing  prop- 
er proportions  of  news,  politics,  and 
scandal,  put  titles  to  your  paragraphs, 
see  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ship-shape 
through  the  press,  and  go  home  to 
my  wife  and  dinner.  Yoa  are  my 
employer,  but  you  are  not  my  friend, 
and— "bless  ray  soul!  there  is  fiye 
o'clock  striking!"  (The  timepiece 
in  our  drawing-room  gave  that  an- 
nouncement as  he  was  speaking.) 
"  We  have  what  Mugford  calls  a 
white-choker  dinner  to-day,  in  honor 
of  the  pig !  "  And  with  this  Philip 
plunges  out  of  the  house,  and  I  hope 
reached  Hampstead  in  time  for  the 
entertainment. 

Philip's  friends  in  Westminster  felt 
no  little  doubt  about  his  prospects, 
and  the  Little  Sister  shared  their 
alarm.  "  They  are  not  fit  to  be  with 
those  folks,"  Mrs.  Brandon  said, 
"  though  as  for  Mrs,  Philip,  dear 
thing,  I  am  sure  nobody  can  ever  quar- 
rel with  her.  With  me  it 's  different. 
I  never  had  no  education,  you  know, 
—  no  more  than  the  Mugfords,  but  I 
don't  like  to  see  my  Philip  sittin' 
down  as  if  he  was  the  guest  and  equal 
of  that  fellar."  Nor  indeed  did  it  ever 
enter  "that  fellar's"  head  that  Mr. 
Frederick  Mugford  could  be  Mr  Philip 
Firmin's  equal.  With  our  knowledge 
of  the  two  men,  then,  we  all  dis- 
mally looked  forward  to  a  rupture  be- 
tween Firmin  and  his  patron. 

As  for  the  New  York  journal,  we 
were  more  easy  in  respect  to  Philip's 
success  in  tliat  quarter.  Several  of 
his  friends  made  a  vow  to  help  him. 
We  clubbed  club-stories  ;  we  begged 
from  our  polite  friends  anecdotes  (that 
would  bear  sea-transijort)  of  the  fash- 
ionable world.  We  happened  to  over- 
hear the  most  remarkable  conversa- 
tions between  the  most  influential  pub- 
lic characters  who  had  no  secrets  from 
us.  We  had  astonishing  intelligence 
at  most  European  courts ;  exclusive 
reports  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia's 
last  joke,  —  his  last  1  his  next,  very 


likely.  We  knew  the  most  secret  de- 
signs of  the  Austrian  Privy  Council ; 
the  views  the  Pope  had  in  his  eye; 
who  was  the  latest  favorite  of  the 
Grand  Turk,  and  so  on.  The  Upper 
Ten  Thousand  at  New  York  were 
supplied  with  a  quantity  of  informa- 
tion which  I  trust  profited  them.  It 
was  "  Palmerston  remarked  yesterday 
at  dinner,"  or,  "  The  good  old  Duke 
said  last  night  at  Apsley  House  to 
the  French  Ambassador,"  and  the 
rest.  The  letters  were  signed  "  Phila- 
lethes  " ;  and,  as  nobody  was  wounded 
by  the  shafts  of  our  long  bow,  I  trust 
Mr.  Philip  and  his  friends  may  be 
pardoned  for  twanging  it.  By  infor- 
mation procured  from  learned  female 
personages,  we  even  managed  to  give 
accounts,  more  or  less  correct,  of  the 
latest  ladies'  fashions.  We  were  mem- 
bers of  all  the  clubs  :  we  were  present 
at  the  routs  and  assemblies  of  the 
political  leaders  of  both  sides.  We 
had  little  doubt  that  Philalethes  would 
be  successful  at  New  York,  and 
looked  fonvard  to  an  increased  pay- 
ment for  his  labors.  At  the  end  of 
the  first  year  of  Philip  Firmin's  mar- 
ried life,  we  made  a  calculation  by 
which  it  was  clear  that  he  had  actual- 
ly saved  money.  His  expenses,  to  be 
sure,  were  increased.  There  was  a 
baby  in  the  nursery  ;  but  there  was  a 
little  bag  of  sovereigns  in  the  cup- 
board, and  the  thrifty  young  fellow 
hoped  to  add  still  more  to  his  store. 

We  were  relieved  at  finding  that  Fir- 
min and  his  wife  were  not  invited  to  re- 
peat their  visit  to  their  employer's 
house  at  Hampstead.  An  occasional 
invitation  to  dinner  was  still  sent  to  the 
young  people ;  but  Mugford,  a  haugh- 
ty man  in  his  way,  with  a  proper 
spirit  of  his  own,  had  the  good  sense 
to  see  that  much  intimacy  could  not 
arise  between  him  and  his  sub-editor, 
and  magnanimously  declined  to  be  an- 
gry at  the  young  fellow's  easy  super- 
ciliousness. I  think  that  indefatigable 
Little  Sister  was  the  peacemaker  be- 
tween the  houses  of  Mugford  and  Fir- 
min junior,  and  that  .she  kept  both 
Philip  and  his  master  on  their  good 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


355 


behavior.  At  all  events,  and  when 
a  quarrel  did  arise  between  them,  I 
grieve  to  have  to  own  it  was  poor 
Philip  who  was  in  the  wrong 

You  know  in  the  old,  old  days  the 
young  king  and  (jueen  never  gave  any 
christening  entertainment  without 
neglecting  to  invite  some  old  fairy 
who  was  fiirious  at  the  omission.  I 
am  sorry  to  say  Charlotte's  mother 
was  so  angry  at  not  being  appointed 
godmother  to  the  new  baby,  that  she 
omitted  to  make  her  little  quarterly 
payment  of  .£12  10  s. ,  and  has  alto- 
gether discontinued  that  payment 
from  that  remote  period  up  to  the 
present  time  ;  so  that  Philip  says  his 
wife  has  brought  him  a  fortune  of  [ 
£45,  paid  in  tour  instalments.  There  1 
was  the  fii^st  quarter  paid  when  the 
old  lady  "  would  not  be  beholden  to 
a  man  like  him."  Then  there  came  a 
second  quarter,  —  and  then  —  but  I 
dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  when 
and  how  Philip's  mamma-in-law  paid 
the  rest  of  her  poor  little  daughter's 
fortune. 

Well,  Regent's  Park  is  a  fine 
healthy  place  for  infantine  diversion, 
and  l' don't  think  Philip  at  all  de- 
meaned himself  in  walking  there  with 
liis  wife,  her  little  maid,  and  his  baby 
on  his  arm.  "  He  is  as  rude  as  a 
bear,  and  his  manners  are  dreadful ; 
but  he  has  a  good  heart,  that  I  will 
say  for  him,"  Mugford  said  to  me. 
In  his  drive  from  London  to  Hamp- 
Btead  Mugford  once  or  twice  met  the 
little  family  group,  of  which  his  sub- 
editor formed  the  principal  figure; 
and  for  the  sake  of  Philip's  young 
wife  andfhild  Mr.  M.  pardoned  the 
young  man's  vulgarity,  and  treated 
him  with  long-suffering. 

Poor  as  he  was,  this  was  his  hap- 
piest time,  my  friend  is  disposed  to 
think.  A  young  child,  a  young  wife, 
whose  whole  life  was  a  tender  caress 
of  love  for  child  and  husband,  a 
young  husband  watching  both:  —  I 
recall  the  group,  as  we  used  often  to 
see  it  in  those  days,  and  see  a  some- 
thing sacred  in  the  homely  figures. 
Ou  th«  wife's   bright  face    what    a 


radiant  happiness  there  is,  and  what 
a  rapturous  smile  1  Over  the  sleep- 
ing infant  and  the  happy  mother  the 
father  looks  with  pride  and  thanks 
in  his  eyes.  Hapjjiness  and  gratitude 
fill  his  simple  heart,  and  prayer  invol- 
untary to  the  Giver  of  good,  that  he 
may  have  strength  to  do  his  duty  as 
father,  husband ;  that  he  may  be 
enabled  to  keep  want  and  care  from 
those  dear  innocent  beings  ;  that  he 
may  defend  them,  befriend  them, 
leave  them  a  good  name.  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  Philip  became 
thrifty  and  saving  for  the  sake  of 
Char  and  the  child  ;  that  he  came 
home  early  of  nights  ;  that  he  thought 
his  child  a  wonder;  that  he  never 
tired  of  speaking  about  that  infant  in 
our  house,  about  its  fatness,  its 
strength,  its  weight,  its  wonderful 
early  talents  and  humor.  He  felt 
himself  a  man  now  for  the  first  time, 
he  said.  Life  had  been  play  and 
folly  until  now.  And  now  especially 
he  regretted  that  he  had  been  idle, 
and  had  neglected  his  opportunities  as 
a  lad.  Had  he  studied  for  the  bar,  he 
might  have  made  that  profession  now 
profitable,  and  a  source  of  honor  and 
competence  to  his  family.  Our  friend 
estimated  his  own  powers  very 
humbly :  I  am  sure  he  was  not  the 
less  amiable  on  account  of  that  hu- 
mility. O  fortunate  he,  of  whom 
Love  is  the  teacher,  the  guide  and 
master,  the  reformer,  and  chastener ! 
Where  was  our  friend's  former  arro- 
gance, self-confidence,  and  boisterous 
profusion  ?  He  was  at  the  feet  of  his 
wife  and  child.  He  was  quite  hum- 
bled about  himself;  or  gratified  him- 
self in  fondling  and  caressing  these. 
They  taught  him,  he  said  ;  and  as  he 
thought  of  them  his  heart  turned  in 
awful  thanks  to  the  gracious  Heaven 
which  had  given  them  to  him.  As 
the  tiny  infant  hand  closes  round  his 
fingers,  I  can  see  the  father  bending 
over  mother  and  child,  and  inter- 
pret those  maybe  unspoken  blessings 
which  he  asks  and  bestows.  Happy 
wife,  happy  husband  !  However  poor 
his  little  home  may  be,  it  holds  treas- 


356 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


ures  and  wealth  inestimable ;  what- 
ev.er  storms  may  threaten  without, 
the  home  fireside  is  brightened  with 
the  welcome  of  the  dearest  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN  WHICH  I  OWN  THAT  PHILIP  TELLS 
AN  UNTRUTH. 

Charlotte  (and  the  usual  little 
procession  of  nurse,,  baby,  &c.)  once 
made  their  appearance  at  our  house 
in  Queen  Square,  where  they  were 
ever  welcome  by  the  lady  of  the  man- 
sion. The  young  woman  was  in  a 
great  state  of  elation,  and  when  we 
came  to  hear  the  cause  of  her  de- 
light, her  friends  too  opened  the  eyes 
of  wonder.  She  actually  announced 
that  Dr.  Firmin  had  sent  over  a  bill 
of  forty  pounils  (I  may  be  incorrect 
as  to  the  sum)  from  Xew  York.  It 
had  arrived  that  morning,  and  she 
had  seen  the  bill,  and  Philip  had 
told  her  that  his  father  had  sent  it ; 
and  was  it  not  a  comfort  to  think 
that  poor  Doctor  Firmin  was  endeav- 
oring to  repair  some  of  the  evil 
which  he  had  done  ;  and  that  he  was 
repenting,  and,  perhaps,  was  going 
to  become  quite  honest  and  good  ? 
This  was  indeed  an  astounding  piece 
of  intelligence :  and  the  two  women 
felt  joy  at  the  thought  of  that  sinner 
repenting,  and  some  one  else  was  ac- 
cused of  cynicism,  scepticism,  and  so 
forth,  for  doubting  the  correctness  of 
the  information.  "  You  believe  in 
no  one,  sir.  You  are  always  incred- 
ulous about  good,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
was  tlie  accusation  brought  against 
the  reader's  very  hum'de  servant. 
Weil,  about  the  contrition  of  this 
sinner  I  confess  I  still  continued  to 
have  doubts ;  and  thought  a  present 
of  forty  pounds  to  a  son,  to  whom  he 
owed  thousands,  was  no  great  proof 
of  the  Doctor's  amendment. 

And  oh  !  how  vexed  some  people 
were  when  the  real  story  came  out  at 
last !  Xot  for  the  money's  sake,  — 
not  because  they  were  wrong  in  ar- 


gument, and  I  turned  out  to  be  right. 
O  no  !  But  because  it  was  proved 
that  this  unhappy  doctor  had  no 
present  intention  of  repenting  at  all. 
This  brand  would  not  come  out  of 
the  burning,  whatever  we  might 
hope ;  and  the  Doctor's  supporters 
were  obliged  to  admit  as  much  when 
they  came  to  know  the  real  story. 
"  U  Philip,"  cries  Mrs.  Laura,  when 
ne.Kt  she  saw  Mr.  Firmin.  "  How 
pleased  I  was  to  hear  of  that,  let- 
ter ! " 

"  What  letter  ?  "  asks  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  That  letter  from  your  father  at 
New  York,"  says  the  lady. 

"  O,"  says  the  gentleman  address- 
ed, with  a  red  face. 

"  What  then  ?  Is  it  not  —  is  it 
not  all  true  ?  "  we  ask. 

"  Poor  Charlotte  does  not  under- 
stand about  business,"  says  Philip; 
"  I  did  not  read  the  letter  to  her. 
Here  it  is."  And  he  hands  over  the 
document  to  me,  and  I  have  the 
liberty  to  publish  it. 

"New  York, 

"  And  so,  my  dear  Philip,  I  may 
congratulate  myself  on  having  achiev- 
ed ancestral  honor,  and  may  add 
grandfather  to  my  titles  ?  How 
quickly  this  one  has  come !  I  feel 
myself  a  3-oung  man  still,  in  spile  of 
the  blows  of  misfoiiune,  —  at  least  I 
know  I  was  a  young  man  but  yester- 
day, when  I  may  say  with  our  dear 
old  poet,  Non  sine  yloria  miUtuvi. 
Suppose  I  too  were  to  tire  of  solitary 
widowhood  and  re-enter  the  married 
state  ?  There  are  one  or  two  ladies 
here  who  would  still  condescend  to 
look  not  unfavorably  on  the  retired 
Enfjlish  (jentleman.  Without  vanity  I 
may  say  it,  a  man  of  birth  and  posi- 
tion in  England  acquires  a  polish 
and  refinement  of  manner  which  dol- 
lars cannot  purchase,  and  many  a 
Wall  Street  millionarij  might  envy  ! 

"  Your  wife  has  been  pronounced 
to  be  an  angel  by  a  little  correspondent 
of  mine,  who  gives  me  much  fuller  in- 
telligence of  my  family  than  my  son 


THE  ADVENTUKKS   OF   PHILIP. 


3.37 


condescends  to  furnisli.  Mrs.  Philip 
I  iiear  is  jientlc  ;  Mrs.  Hraiiiloii  says 
she  is  bciiuiit'ul,  —  sho  is  all  j^ood- 
humored.  I  liopc  you  have  taut; lit 
her  to  think  not  lerij  l)ailly  of  her 
husband's  father  Y  I  was  the  dupe  of 
villains  who  lured  me  into  their 
schemes;  who  robbed  me  of  a  life's 
earuinjjs  ;  who  indneed  me  by  their 
false  represenialions  to  luiA-e  such  con- 
fidence in  them,  that  I  embarked  all 
my   own  property,   and     yours,   my 

?>or  boy,  alas !  in  their  undertaking's. 
our  Charlotte  will  take  the  liberal, 
the  wise,  the  just  view  of  the  case, 
and  pity  ratlier  than  blame  my  mis- 
fortune. Such  is  the  view,  I  am  hap- 
py to  say,  generally  adopted  in  this 
city :  where  there  are  men  of  the 
world  who  know  the  vicissitudes  of 
a  mercantile  career,  and  can  make 
allowances  for  misfortune !  What 
made  Rome  at  first  great  and  pros- 
perous ?  Were  its  first  colonists  all 
wealthy  patricians  1  Nothing  can  be 
more  satisfactory  than  the  disregard 
shown  here  to  mere  pecuniary  difficulty. 
At  the  same  time  to  be  a  gentleman 
is  to  possess  no  trifling  privilege  in 
this  society,  where  the  advantages  of 
birth,  respected  name,  and  early  edu- 
cation ativays  tell  in  the  possessor's 
favor.  Many  persons  whom  I  visit 
here  have  certainly  not  these  advan- 
tages, —  and  in  the  highest  society  of 
the  city  I  could  point  out  individuals 
who  have  had  pecuniary  misfortunes 
like  myself,  who  have  gallantly  re- 
newed the  combat  after  their  fall, 
and  are  now  fully  restored  to  compe- 
tence, to  wealth,  and  the  respect  of 
the  world  !  1  was  in  a  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue  last  night.  Is  Washington 
White  shunned  by  his  fellow-men 
because  he  has  been  bankrupt  three 
times  1  Anything  more  elegant  or 
profuse  than  his  entertainment  I  have 
not  witnessed  on  this  continent.  His 
lady  had  diamonds  which  a  duchess 
might  envy.  The  most  cosily  wines, 
the  most  magnilicent  supper,  and 
myriads  of  canvas-backed  ducks 
covered  his  board.  Dear  Charlotte, 
my   friend   Captain   Colpoys    brings 


you  over  three  brace  of  the.se  from 
your  father-in-law,  who  ho])es  they 
will  funii.-ih  your  little  dinner-table. 
Wo  cat  currant-jelly  with  them  here, 
but  I  like  an  old  English  lemon  and 
cayenne  suace  better. 

"  By  the  way,  dear  Philip,  I  trust 
you  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by  a 
little  financial  operation,  which  neces- 
sity (alas  !)  has  compelled  me  to  per- 
form. Knowing  that  your  quarter 
with  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  Gazette 
was  now  due,  I  have  made  so  bold  as 

to  request  Colonel to  p.iy  it  over 

to  me.  Promises  to  pay  must  be  met 
liere  as  with  us,  —  an  obdurate  holder 
of  an  unlucky  acceptance  of  mine  (I 
am  happy  to  say  there  are  very  few 
such)  would  admit  of  no  delay,  and  I 
have  been  compelled  to  appropriate 
my  poor  Philip's  earnings.  1  have 
only  put  you  oft'  for  ninety  days  :  with 
your  credit  and  wealthy  friends  you 
can  easily  negotiate  the  bill  enclosed,  and  I 
promise  yon  that  when  presented  it 
shall  be  honored  by  my  Philip's  ever 
aft'ectionate  lather, 

"G.  B.  F. 

"  By  the  way  your  Philalcthcs  let- 
ters are  not  (jnite  spicy  enough,  uiy 
worthy  friend  the  Colonel  says.  'Ihi  y 
arc  elegant  and  gay,  but  the  public 
here  desires  to  have  more  personal  mws  ; 
a  little  scandal  about  Queen  Elizabeth, 
you  understand  ?  Can't  you  attack 
somebody  ?  Look  at  the  letters  and 
articles  published  by  my  respected 
friend  of  the  New  York  Emerald ! 
The  readers  here  like  a  high-spiced  ar- 
ticle: and  I  recommend  P.  ¥.  to  ])Ut 
a  little  more  pepper  in  his  dishes. 
What  a  comfort  to  me  it  is  to  think 
that  I  have  procured  this  place  for 
you,  and  have  been  enabled  to  help 
my  son  and  his  young  familv  ! 

"G.  B.  F." 

Enclosed  in  this  letter  was  a  slip  of 
paper  which  poor  Philip  supposed  to 
be  a  check  when  he  first  beheld  it, 
but  which  turned  out  to  be  his  papa's 
promissory  note,  payable  at  New 
York  four  months  after  date      AnU 


i 


353 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


this  document  was  to  represent  the 
money  which  the  elder  Firmin  had 
received  in  his  son's  name  !  Philip's 
eye  met  his  friend's  when  they  talked 
about  this  matter.  Firmin  looked 
almost  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he 
himself  had  done  the  wrong. 

"  Does  the  loss  of  this  money  an- 
noy you  1 "  asked  Philip's  friend. 

"  'the  manner  of  the  loss  does," 
said  poor  Philip.  "  I  don't  care 
about  the  money.  But  he  should  not 
have  taken  this.  He  should  not  have 
taken  this.  Think  of  poor  Charlotte 
and  the  child  being  in  want  possibly ! 
U  friend,  it 's  hard  to  bear,  is  n't  it  ? 
I  'm  an  honest  fellow,  ain't  I  ?  I 
think  I  am.  I  pray  Heaven  I  am. 
In  any  extremity  of  poverty  could  I 
have  done  this  ?  Well.  It  was  my 
father  who  introduced  me  to  these 
people.  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  has  a 
right  to  my  earnings  :  and  if  he  is  in 
want,  you  know,  so  he  has." 

"  Had  you  not  better  write  to  the 
New  York  publishers  and  beg  them 
henceforth  to  remit  to  you  directly  ?  " 
asks  Philip's  friend. 

"  That  would  be  to  tell  them  that 
he  has  dispo^jd  of  the  money,"  groans 
Philip.  "  I  can't  tell  them  that  my 
father  is  a  —  " 

"  No  ;  but  you  can  thank  them  for 
having  handed  over  such  a  sura  on 
your  account  to  the  Doctor :  and 
warn  them  that  you  will  draw  on 
them  from  this  country  henceforth. 
They  won't  in  this  case  pay  the  next 
quarter  to  the  Doctor." 

"  Suppose  he  is  in  want,  ought  I 
not  to  supply  him  1 "  Firmin  said. 
"  As  long  as  there  are  four  crusts  in 
the  house,  the  Doctor  ought  to  have 
one.  Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  helping  himself,  old  boy  ?  "  and 
he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine,  poor  fellow, 
with  a  rueful  smile.  By  the  way,  it 
is  my  duty  to  mention  here,  that"  the 
elder  Firmin  was  in  the  habit  of  giv- 
ing very  elegant  little  dinner-parties 
at  New  York,  where  little  dinner-par- 
ties arc  much  more  costly  than  in 
Europe,  —  "  in  order,"  he  said, "  to  es- 
tablish and  keep  up  his  oonnectioa  as  | 


a  physician."  As  a  bon-vivarU,  I  am 
informed,  the  Doctor  began  to  be 
celebrated  in  his  new  dwelling-place, 
where  his  anecdotes  of  the  British 
aristocracy  were  received  with  pleas- 
ure in  certain  circles. 

But  it  would  be  as  well  henceforth 
that  Philip  should  deal  directly  with 
his  American  correspondents,  and 
not  employ  the  services  of  so  very  ex- 
pensive a  broker.  To  this  suggestion 
he  could  not  but  agree.  Meanwhile, 
—  and  let  this  be  a  warning  to  men 
never  to  deceive  their  wives  in  any 
the  slightest  circumstances ;  to  tell 
them  everythincf  they  wish  to  know,  to 
keep  nothing  hidden  from  those  dear 
and  excellent  beings,  —  you  must 
know,  ladies,  that  when  Philip's  famous 
ship  of  dollars  arrived  from  America, 
Firmin  had  promised  his  wife  that 
baby  sliould  have  a  dear  delightful 
white  cloak  trimmed  with  the  most 
lovely  tape,  on  which  poor  Charlotte 
had  often  cast  a  longing  eye  as  she 
passed  by  the  milliner  and  curiosity 
shops  in  Hanway  Yard,  which,  I  own, 
she  loved  to  frequent.  Well ;  when 
Philip  told  her  that  his  father  had 
sent  home  forty  pounds,  or  what  not, 
thereby  deceiving  his  fond  wife,  the 
little  lady  went  away  straight  to  her 
diirling  shop  in  the  Yard  (Hanway 
Yard  has  become  a  street  now,  but 
ah  !  it  is  always  delightful), — Char- 
lotte, I  say,  went  off,  ran  off  to  Han- 
way Yard,  pavid  with  fear  lest  the 
darling  cloak  should  be  gone,  found 
it  —  O  joy  !  —  still  in  Miss  Isaacson's 
window  ;  put  it  on  baby  straightway 
then  and  there  ;  kissed  the  dear  in- 
fant, and  was  delighted  with  the  effect 
of  the  garment,  which  all  the  young 
ladies  at  Miss  Isaacson's  pronounced 
to  be  perfect ;  and  took  the  cloak 
away  on  baby's  shoulders,  promising 
to  send  the  money,  five  pounds,  if  you 
please,  next  day.  And  in  this  cloak 
baby  and  Charlotte  went  to  meet 
papa  when  he  came  home ;  and  I 
don't  know  which  of  them,  mamma 
or  baby,  was  the  most  pleased  and 
absurd  and  happy  baby  of  the  two. 
On  his  way  home  from  his  newsp* 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


359 


per,  Mr.  Philip  had  orders  to  pursue  a 
certain  line  of  streets,  and  when  his 
accustomed  hour  for  returning  from 
his  business  drew  nigh,  Mrs.  Char 
went  down  Thornhaugh  Street,  down 
Charlotte  Street,  down  Rathbonc 
Place,  with  Betsy  the  nursckin  and 
baby, in  the  new  cloak.  Behold,  he 
comes  at  last  —  papa  —  striding  down 
the  street.  He  sees  the  figures  :  he 
sees  the  child,  which  laughs,  and 
holds  out  its  little  pink  hands,  and 
crows  a  recognition.  And  "  Look  — 
look,  papa,  cries  the  happy  mother. 
(Away  !  I  cannot  keep  up  the  mys- 
tery about  the  baby  any  longer,  and 
though  I  had  forgotten  for  a  moment 
the  child's  sex,  remembered  it  the  in- 
stant after,  and  that  it  was  a  girl  to  be 
sure,  and  that  its  name  was  Laura 
Caroline.)  "Look,  look,  papa!" 
cries  the  happy  mother.  "She  has 
got  another  little  tooth  since  the 
morning,  such  a  beautiful  little  tooth, 
—  and  look  here,  sir,  don't  you  ob- 
Berve  anything  1  " 

"  Any  what  ?  "  asks  Philip. 

"  La !  sir,"  says  Betsy,  giving 
Laura  Caroline  a  great  toss,  so  that 
her  white  cloak  floats  in  the  air. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  dear  cloak  1 "  cries 
mamma ;  "  and  does  n't  baby  look 
like  an  angel  in  it  ?  I  bought  it  at 
Miss  Isaacson's  to-day,  as  you  got 
yonr  money  from  New  York ;  and 
O  my  dear,  it  only  cost  five  guineas." 

"  Well,  it's  a  week's  work,"  sighs 
poor  Philip ;  "  and  I  think  I  need 
not  grudge  that  to  give  Charlotte 
plea.sure."  And  he  feels  his  empty 
pockets  rather  ruefully. 

"  God  bless  you,  Philip,"  says  my 
wife,  with  her  eyes  full.  "  They 
came  here  this  morning,  Charlotte 
and  the  nurse  and  the  baby  in  the 
new  —  the  new  —  "  Here  the  lady 
seized  hold  of  Philip's  hand,  and 
fairly  broke  out  into  tears.  Had  she 
embraced  Mr.  Firmin  before  her  hus- 
band's own  ej-es,  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised.  Indeed  she  confessed 
that  she  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
way  to  this  most  sentimental  out- 
break 


And  now,  my  brethren,  see  how 
one  crime  is  the  parent  of  many,  and 
one  act  of  duplicity  leads  to  a  Avholc 
career  of  deceit.  In  tiie  first  place, 
you  see,  Philip  had  deceived  his  wife, 
—  with  the  ])ious  desire,  it  is  true,  of 
screening  his  father's  little  peculiar- 
ities,—  but,  ruat  caliim,  we  must  tell 
no  lies.  No  :  and  from  this  day  forth 
I  order  John  never  to  say  Not  at 
home  to  the  greatest  bore,  dun, 
dawdle  of  my  acquaintance.  If 
riiilip's  father  had  not  deceived  him, 
Philip  would  not  have  deceived  his 
wife  ;  if  he  had  not  deceived  his  wife, 
she  would  not  have  given  five  guineas 
for  that  cloak  for  the  baby.  Ifslie 
had  not  given  five  guineas  for  the 
cloak,  my  wife  would  never  have  en- 
tered into  a  secret  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Firmin,  which  might,  but 
for  my  own  sweetness  of  temper,  have 
bred  jealousy,  mistrust,  and  the  most 
awful  quarrels  —  nay,  duels  —  be- 
tween the  heads  of  the  two  families. 
Fancy  Philip's  body  lying  stark  upon 
Hampstead  Heath  with  a  bullet 
through  it,  despatched  by  the  hand  of 
his  friend  !  Fancy  a  cab  driving  up 
to  my  own  house,  and  from  it  —  un- 
der the  eyes  of  the  children  at  the 
parlor  windows  —  their  father's  bleed- 
ing corpse  ejected !  —  Enough  of  tliis 
dreadful  pleasantry  !  Two  diiys  after 
the  aflPair  of  the  cloak,  I  found  a  ht- 
ter  in  Philip's  handwriting  addressed 
to  my  wife,  and  thinking  that  the 
note  had  reference  to  a  matter  of  din- 
ner then  pending  between  our  fami- 
lies, 1  broke  open  the  envelope  and 
read  as  follows  !  — 

"  Thornhadgh  Street,  Thurxday. 
"My  dear,  kind  Godmamma, — 
As  soon  as  ever  I  can  write  and 
speak,  I  will  thank  you  for  being  so 
kind  to  me.  My  mamma  says  she 
is  very  jealous,  and  as  she  bought 
my  cloak  she  can't  think  of  allowing 
you  to  pay  for  it.  But  she  desires 
me  never  to  forget  your  kindness^  to 
us,  and  though  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it  now,  she  promises  to  tell  mo 
when  I  am  old  enough.     Meanwhile 


3G0 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


I  am  your  grateful  and  affectionate 
little  goddaughter,  L.  C.  F." 

Philip  was  persuaded  by  his  friends 
at  home  to  send  out  the  request  to 
his  New  York  employers  to  pay  his 
salary  henceforth  to  himself;  and  I 
remember  a  dignified  letter  came 
from  his  parent,  in  which  the  matter 
was  spoken  of  in  sorrow  rather  than 
in  anger  ;  in  which  tiie  Doctor  point- 
ed out  that  this  precautionary  measure 
seemed  to  imply  a  doubt  on  Philip's 
side  of  his  father's  honor ;  and  surely, 
surely  he  was  unhappy  enough  and  un- 
fortunate enough  already  without  mer- 
iting this  mistrust  from  his  son.  The 
duty  of  a  son  to  honor  his  father  and  [ 
mother  was  feelingly  pointed  out,  and  . 
the  Doctor  meekly  trusted  that  ! 
Philip's  children  would  give  A/m  more 
confidence  than  he  seemed  to  be  in-  ■. 
clined  to  award  to  his  unfortunate 
father.  Never  mind.  He  should 
bear  no  malice.  If  Fortune  ever 
smiled  on  him  again,  and  something 
told  him  she  would,  he  would  show  ' 
Philip  that  he  could  forgive ;  although 
he  might  not  perhaps  be  able  to  for- 
get that  in  his  exile,  his  solitude,  his 
declining  years,  his  misfortune,  his 
own  child  had  mistrusted  him.  This 
he  said  was  the  most  cruel  blow  of 
all  for  his  susceptible  heart  to  bear. 

This    letter    of    paternal    remon-  i 
strance  was  enclosed  in  one  from  the 
Doctor  to  his  old  friend  the  Little  Sis- 
ter, in  which  he  vaunted  a  discovery 
which  he  and   some  other  scientific 
gentlemen  were  engaged  in  perfect- 
ing, —  of  a  medicine  which  was  to  be  j 
e.xtraordinarily  efficacious  in  cases  in  ! 
which  Mrs.  Brandon  herself  was  often  ! 
specially  and  professionally  engaged, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  the  sale  of  this 
medicine  would  go  far  to  retrieve  his 
shattered  fortune.     He    pointed   out 
the  complaints  in  which  this  medicine 
Avas  most  efficacious.     He  would  send 
some  of  it,  and  details  regarding  its 
use,  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  might  try  j 
its   efficacy   upon   her   patients.     He 
was  advancing  slowly,  but  steadily,  i 
in   his   medical  profession,  he   said ;  j 


though  of  course,  he  had  to  snffer 
from  the  jealousy  of  his  professional 
brethren.  Never  mind.  Better  times, 
he  was  sure,  were  in  store  for  all ; 
when  his  son  should  see  that  a 
wretched  matter  of  forty  pounds  more 
should  not  deter  him  from  paying  all 
just  claims  upon  him.  Amen  !  We 
all  heartily  wished  for  the  day  when 
Philip's  father  should  be  able  to  set- 
tle his  little  accounts.  Meanwhile, 
the  proprietors  of  the  Gazette  of  the 
Upper  Ten  Thousand  were  instructed 
to  write  directly  to  their  London  cor- 
respondent. 

Although  Mr.  Firmin  prided  him- 
self, as  we  have  seen,  upon  his  taste 
and  dexterity  as  sub-editor  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette  I  must  own  that 
he  was  a  very  insubordinate  officer, 
with  whom  his  superiors  often  had 
cause  to  be  angry.  Certain  people 
were  praised  in  the  Gazette,  —  cer- 
tain others  were  attacked.  Very  dull 
books  were  admired,  and  very  lively 
works  attacked.  Some  men  were 
praised  for  everything  they  did ; 
some  others  were  satirized,  no  matter 
what  their  works  were.  "  I  find," 
poor  Philip  used  to  say  with  a  groan, 
"  that  in  matters  of  criticism  especial- 
ly there  are  so  often  private  reasons 
for  the  praise  and  blame  administered, 
that  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  my  only 
duty  is  to  see  the  paper  through  the 
press.  For  instance,  there  is  Har- 
rocks,  the  tragedian,  ofDruryLane: 
every  piece  in  which  he  appears  is  a 
masterpiece,-  and  his  performance  the 
greatest  triumph  ever  witnessed. 
Very  good.  Harrocks  and  my  ex- 
cellent employer  are  good  friends, 
and  dine  with  each  other ;  and  it  is 
natural  that  Mugford  should  like  to 
have  his  friend  praised,  and  to  help 
him  in  every  way.  But  Balderson, 
of  Covent  Garden,  is  also  a  very  fine 
actor.  Why  can 'tour  critic  see  his 
merit  as  well  as  Harrocks's.  Poor 
Balderson  is  never  allowed  any  merit 
at  all.  He  is  passed  over  with  a 
sneer,  or  a  curt  word  of  cold  com- 
mendation, while  columns  of  flattery 
are  not  enough  for  his  nval." 


THE  ADVENTUKKS   OF   PHILIP 


361 


"Why,  Mr.  F.,  what  a  flat  you 
must  be,  askin'  your  pardon,"  re- 
marked Mugford,  in  reply  to  his  .sub- 
editor's simple  remonstrance.  "  How 
can  we  praise  Balderson,  when  Har- 
roeks  is  our  friend  1  Me  and  Har- 
rocks  are  thick.  Our  wives  arc  close 
friends.  If  I  was  to  let  Balderson  be 
praised,  I  should  drive  Harrocks 
mad.  I  can't  praise  Balderson,  don't 
you  see,  out  of  justice  to  Harrocks  !  " 
Then  there  was  a  certain  author 
whom  Bickerton  was  forever  attack- 
in<r.  They  had  had  a  private  quarrel, 
and  Bickerton  revenj;cd  himself  in 
this  way.  In  reply  to  Philip's  out- 
tries  and  remonstrances,  Mr.  Mug- 
ford  only  laughed  :  "  The  two  nien 
are  enemies,  and  Bickerton  liits 
him  whenever  he  can.  Why,  tliat  's 
only  human  nature,  Mr.  ¥.,"  says 
Philip's  employer. 

"  Great  Heavens  ! "  bawls  out  Fir- 
min,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the 
man  is  base  enough  to  strike  at  his 
private  enemies  through  the  press  ?  " 
"Private  enemies!  prixate  gam- 
mon, Mr.  Firmin  !  "  cries  Pl.iiip's 
employer.  "  If  I  have  enemies,  — 
and  I  have,  there's  no  doubt  about 
that,  — I  serve  them  oiit  whenever 
and  wherever  I  can.  And  let  me 
tell  you  I  don't  half  relish  having  my 
conduct  called  base.  It's  only  nat- 
ural ;  and  it 's  right.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  prai.se  your  enemies, 
and  abuse  your  friend  1  If  that 's 
your  line,  let  me  tell  you  )'ou  won't 
do  in  the  noospaper  business,  and  had 
better  take  to  some  other  trade." 
And  the  employer  parted  from  his 
subordinate  in  some  heat. 

Mugford,  indeed,  feelingly  spoke 
to  me  about  this  insubordination  of 
Philip.  "  What  does  the  fellow 
mean  by  quarrelling  with  his  bread- 
and-butter  ?  "  Mr.  Mugford  asked. 
"  Speak  to  him,  and  show  him  what 's 
what,  Mr.  P.,  or  we  shall  come  to  a 
quarrel,  mind  you,  —  and  I  don't 
want  that,  for  the  sake  of  his  little 
wife,  poor  little  delicate  thing.  What- 
ever i.*;  to  happen  to  them,  if  we  don't 
•tand  by  them  ?  " 

16 


What  was  to  happen   to  tliem,  in- 
deed ?     Any  one  wlio  knew   l=hilip's 
tenijier   as    we   did    Mas    avvarc    how 
little    advice    or   remonstrance   were 
likely  to  affect  that  gentleman.  "  Good 
Heavens  !  "    he  said   to  me,  when  I 
endeavored  to  make  him  adopt  a  con- 
ciliatory tone  towards  his  emjiloyer, 
"  do  you  want  to  make  me  Mugford's 
galley-slave?      I    shall    have    him 
standing   over   me    and   swearing  iit 
me  as  he  does  at  the  printers.     He 
looks  into  my  room  at  times  when  he  is 
in  a  passion,  atid  glares  at  me  as  if  he 
would  like  to  seize  nie  by  the  throat ; 
and  after  a  word  or  two  he  goes  o(}', 
and  I  hear  him  curse  the  boys  in  the 
passage.     One  day  it  will  be  on  me 
that  he  will  turn,  1  feel  sure  of  that. 
I  tell  you  the  slavery  is  beginning  to 
be  awful.   I  wake  of  a  night  and  groan 
and  chafe,  and  jjoor  Char,  too,  wakes 
and   asks,   '  What  is  it,  Philip  ? '     I 
say  it  is  rlietimatism.    K  Ik  iiniatism  !  " 
Of  course  to  Philip's  malady  his  friends 
tried  to  a])])ly  the  comniun]»!aee  ano- 
dynes and  consolations.     He  must  be 
g(ntle  in  his  bearing.     He  must  re- 
mtmher    that  his  employer   had    not 
been  bred  agentlenuin,an(l  that  though 
rough  and  coarse  in  language,  Mug- 
ford had  a  kind  heart.     "  There  is  no 
need  to  tell  me  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  I 
know  that,"  says  poor  Phil.     "  He  is 
kind  to  Char  and  the  child,  that  is  the 
truth,  and  so  is  his  wife.    I  am  a  slave 
for  all  that.     He  is  my  driver.     He 
feeds  me.     He  has  n't  beat  me  yet. 
When  I  was  away  at  Paris  I  did  not 
feel    the   chain    so   much.     But  it  is 
scarcely   tolerable  now  \\l:en    I  have 
to  see  my  jailer  four  or  live  times  a 
week.     My  poor  little  Ciuir,  v<h>   did 
I  drag  you  into  this  slavery  ?  " 

'•  Becau,se  you  wanted  a  eousoler,  I 
supjiose,"  remarks  one  of  Philip's 
comforters.  "  And  do  you  sujipose 
Charlotte  would  be  ha])[)ier  if  she 
were  away  from  you  ?  'J'hough  you 
live  up  two  pair  of  stairs,  is  any  home 
happier  than  yours,  Philip  ?  You 
often  own  as  much,  when  you  are  in 
happier  moods.  Who  has  not  his 
work  to  do,  and  his  burden  to  bear  1 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


You  say  sometimes  that  you  are  im- 
perious and  hot-tempered.  Perhaps 
your  slavery,  as  you  call  it,  may  be 
good  for  you." 

"  I  have  doomed  myself  and  her  to 
it,"  says  Philip,  hangingdownhis  head. 

"  Does  she  ever  repine  ?  "  asks  his 
adviser.  "  Does  she  not  think  her- 
self the  happiest  little  wife  in  the 
world  ?  See  here,  Philip,  here  is  a 
note  from  her  yesterday  in  which  she 
says  as  much.  Do  you  want  to 
know  what  the  note  is  about,  sir  ?  " 
says  the  lady  with  a  smile.  "  Well, 
then,  she  wantetl  a  receipt  for  that 
dish  which  you  liked  so  much  on 
Friday,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Brandon 
will  make  it  for  you." 

"And  if  it  consisted  of  minced 
Charlotte,"  says  Philip's  other  friend, 
"  you  know  she  would  cheerfully  chop 
herself  up,  and  have  herself  served 
with  a  little  cream  sauce  and  sippets 
of  toast  for  your  honor's  dinner.' 

This  Wiis  undoubtedly  true.  Did 
not  Job's  friends  make  many  true  re- 
marks when  they  visited  him  in  his 
affliction  ?  Patient  as  he  was,  the 
patriarch  groaned  and  lamented,  and 
why  should  not  poor  Philip  be  al- 
lowed to  grumble,  who  was  not  a 
model  of  patience  at  all  ?  He  was 
not  broke  in  as  yet.  The  mill-horse 
was  restive  and  kicked  at  his  work. 
He  would  chafe  not  seldom  at  the 
daily  drudgery,  and  have  his  fits 
of  revolt  and  despondency.  Well  1 
Have  others  not  had  to  toil,  to  bow 
the  proud  head,  and  carry  the  daily 
burden  ?  Don't  you  see  Pegnsus, 
who  was  going  to  win  the  plate,  a 
weary,  broken-knee'd,  broken-down 
old  cab-hack  shivering  in  the  rank ; 
or  a  sleek  gelding,  mayhap,  pac- 
ing under  a  corpulent  maimer  in 
Rotten  Row  ?  Philip's  crust  began 
to  be  scanty,  and  was  dipped  in  bitter 
waters.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a 
long  story  of  this  part  of  his  ca- 
reer, or  parade  my  friend  as  too  hun- 
gry and  poor.  He  is  safe  now,  and 
out  of  all  peril,  Heaven  be  thanked  ! 
but  he  had  to  pa.ss  through  hard 
times,  and  to  look  out  very  wistfully 


lest  the  wolf  should  enter  at  the  door. 
He  never  laid  claim  to  be  a  man  of 
genius,  nor  was  he  a  successful  quack 
who  could  pass  as  a  man  of  genius. 
When  there  were  French  prisoners 
in  England,  we  know  how  stout  old 
officers  who  had  plied  their  sabres 
against  Mamelouks,  or  Russians,  or 
Germans,  were  fain  to  carve  little 
gimcracks  in  bone  with  their  pen- 
knives, or  make  baskets  and  boxes  of 
chipped  straw,  and  piteously  sell 
them  to  casual  visitors  to  their  prison. 
Philip  was  poverty's  prisoner.  He 
had  to  make  such  shifts,  and  do  such 
work,  as  he  could  find  in  his  captiv- 
ity. I  do  not  think  men  who  have 
undergone  the  struggle  and  served  the 
dire  task-master  like  to  look  back  and 
recall  the  grim  apprenticeship.  When 
Philip  says  now,  "  What  fools  we 
were  to  marry,  Char,"  she  looks  up 
radiantly,  with  love  and  happiness  in 
her  eyes,  —  looks  up  to  heaven,  and 
is  thankful  ;  but  grief  and  sadness 
come  over  her  husband's  face  at  the 
thought  of  those  days  of  pain  and 
srloom.  She  may  soothe  him,  and  he 
may  be  thankful  too  ;  but  the  wounds 
are  still  there  which  were  dealt  to 
him  in  the  cruel  battle  with  fortune. 
Men  are  ridden  down  in  it.  Men  are 
poltroons  and  run.  Men  maraud, 
break  ranks,  are  guilty  of  meanness, 
cowardice,  shabby  plunder.  Men 
are  raised  to  rank  and  honor,  or  drop 
and  perish  unnoticed  on  the  field. 
Happy  he  who  comes  from  it  with 
his  honor  pure  !  Philip  did  not  win 
crosses  and  epaulets.  He  is  like  us, 
my  dear  sir,  not  a  heroic  genius  at  all. 
And  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  all  three 
have  behaved  with  an  average  pluck, 
and  have  been  guilty  of  no  meanness, 
or  treachery,  or  desertion.  Did  you 
behave  otherwise,  what  would  wife 
and  children  say  ?  As  for  Mrs.  Phil- 
ip, I  tell  you  she  thinks  to  this  day 
that  there  is  no  man  like  her  hus- 
band, and  is  ready  to  fall  down  and 
worship  the  boots  in  which  he  walks. 
How  do  men  live  ?  How  is  rent 
paid  ?  How  does  the  dinner  come 
day  after  day  ?    As  a  rule  there  is 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


363 


diiK-jer.  You  might  live  longer  with 
less  of  it,  but  you  can't  go  without  it 
and  live  long.  How  did  my  neigh- 
bor 23  earn  his  carriage,  and  how  did 
24  pay  for  his  house  ?  As  I  am  writ- 
ing this  sentence,  Mr.  Cox,  who  col- 
lects the  taxes  in  this  quarter,  walks 
in.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Cox  ?  We 
are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  meeting 
one  another.  Time  was  —  two,  three 
years  of  time  —  when  poor  Philip 
was  troubled  at  the  sight  of  Cox ; 
and  this  troublous  time  his  biogra- 
pher intends  to  pass  over  in  a  very 
few  pages. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  the  Up- 

Eer  Ten  Thousand  of  New  York 
eard  with  modified  wonder  that  the 
editor  of  that  fashionable  journal  had 
made  a  retreat  from  the  city,  carry- 
ing with  him  the  scanty  contents  of 
the  till ;  so  that  the  contributions  of 
Philalcthes  never  brought  our  poor 
friend  any  dollars  at  all.  But  though 
one  fish  is  caught  and  eaten,  are  there 
not  plenty  more  left  in  the  sea  1  At 
this  very  time  when  I  was  in  a  natu- 
ral state  of  despondency  about  poor 
Philip's  afTiiirs,  it  struck  Tregarviin, 
the  wealthy  Cornish  Member  of  Par- 
liament, that  the  Government  and 
the  House  of  Commons  slighted  his 
speeches  and  his  views  on  foreign 
politics  ;  that  tiie  wife  of  the  Foreign 
Secretary  had  been  very  inattentive 
to  Lady  Tregarvan ;  that  the  designs 
of  a  certain  Great  Power  were  most 
menacing  and  dangerous,  and  ought 
to  be  exposed  and  counteracted  ;  and 
that  the  peerage  which  he  had  long 
desired  ought  to  be  bestowed  on  him. 
Sir  John  Tregarvan  applied  to  cer- 
tain literary  and  political  gentlemen 
with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  He 
would  bring  out  the  European  Re- 
view. He  would  expose  the  designs 
of  that  Great  Power  which  was  men- 
acing Europe.  He  would  f;ho^v  up 
in  his  proper  colors  a  Minister  who 
was  careless  of  the  country's  honor, 
and  forgetful  of  his  own  :  a  Minister 
whose  arrogance  ought  no  longer  to  be 
tolerated  by  the  country  gentlemen  of 
England.     Sir  John,  a  little  man  in 


brass  buttons,  and  a  tall  head,  who 
loves  to  hear  his  own  voice,  came  and 
made  a  speech  on  the  above  topics  to 
the  writer  of  the  present  biogra])hy  ; 
tliat  writer's  lady  was  in  his  study  as 
Sir  John  expounded  his  views  at 
some  length.  She  listened  to  him 
with  the  greatest  attention  and  re- 
spect. She  was  shocked  to  hear  of 
the  ingratitude  of  Government ;  as- 
tounded and  terrified  by  his  exposi- 
tion of  the  designs  of — of  that  Great 
Power  whose  intrigues  were  so  men- 
acing to  European  tranquillity.  She 
was  most  deeply  interested  in  the  idea 
of  establishing  the  Keview.  He 
would,  of  course,  be  himself  the  ed- 
itor; and  —  and — (here  the  woman 
looked  across  the  table  at  her  husbiiiid 
witli  a  strange  triumph  in  her  eyes) 
—  siic  knew,  they  both  knew,  the 
very  man  of  all  the  world  who  was 
most  suited  to  act  as  sub-editor  under 
Sir  John,  —  a  gentleman,  one  of  tlie 
truest  that  ever  lived,  —  a  university 
man ;  a  man  remarkably  versed  in 
tlie  E2uropean  languages,  —  that  is,  in 
French  most  certainly.  And  now 
the  reader,  I  dare  say,  can  guess  wlio 
this  individual  was.  "  I  knew  it  at 
once,"  says  the  lady,  after  Sir  John 
had  taken  his  leave.  "I  told  you 
that  those  dear  children  woidd  not  be 
forsaken."  And  I  would  no  more  try 
and  persuade  her  that  the  Euroiieau 
Keview  was  not  ordained  of  all  time 
to  afford  maintenance  to  I'hilip,  tli:iii 
I  would  induce  lier  to  turn  jMornion, 
and  accept  all  the  consequences  to 
which  ladies  must  submit  when  tl  ey 
make  profession  of  that  creed.  "  You 
see,  my  love,"  I  say  to  tlie  partner  of 
my  existence,  "  what  other  things 
must  have  lieen  ordained  of  all  time 
as  well  as  Philip's  appointment  to  he 
sub-editor  of  the  E^iiropean  Kevitw. 
It  must  have  been  decreed  <ih  iiiillo 
that  Lady  Plinlimmon  should  give 
evening-parties,  in  order  tliat  slie 
might  oftend  Lady  Tregarvan  by  not 
asking  her  to  those  parties.  It  nuisl 
have  been  ordained  by  fate  that  Lady 
Tregarvan  should  be  of  a  jealous  ills- 
position,  so  that  she  might  hate  Lady 


364 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Plinlimmon,  and  was  to  work  upon  her 
husband,  and  inspire  him  with  anger 
and  revolt  against  his  chief.  It  must 
have  been  ruled  by  destiny  that  Tre- 
garvan  should  be  rather  a  weak  and 
wordy  personage,  fancying  that  he 
had  a  talent  for  literary  composition 
Else  he  would  not  have  thought  of 
setting  up  the  Review.  Else  he  would 
never  have  been  angry  with  Lord 
Plinlimmon  for  not  inviting  him  to 
tea.  Else  he  would  not  have  engaged 
Philip  as  sub-editor.  So,  you  see,  in 
order  to  bring  about  this  event,  and 
put  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year  into 
Philip  Firmin's  pocket,  the  Tregar- 
vans  have  to  be  born  from  the  earliest 
times  :  the  Plinlimmons  have  to 
spring  up  in  the  remotest  ages,  and 
come  down  to  the  present  day  :  Doc- 
tor Firmin  has  to  be  a  rogue,  and 
undergo  his  destiny  of  cheating  his 
son  of  money: — all  mankind  up  to 
the  origin  of  our  race  are  involved  in 
your  proposition,  and  we  actually 
arrive  at  Adam  and  Eve,  who  are  but 
fulfilling  their  destiny,  which  was  to 
be  the  ancestors  of  Philip  Firmin." 

"  Even  in  our  first  parents  there 
was  doubt  and  scepticism  and  misgiv- 
ing," says  the  lady,  with  strong  em- 
phasis on  tlie  words.  "  If  you  mean 
to  say  that  th^'re  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  Superior  Power  watching  over  us, 
and  ordaining  things  for  our  good, 
you  are  an  atheist,  —  and  such  a 
thing  as  an  atheist  does  not  exist  in 
the  world,  and  I  would  not  believe 
you  if  you  said  you  were  one  twenty 
times  over." 

I  mention  these  points  by  the  way, 
and  as  samples  of  ladylike  logic.  I 
acknowledge  that  Philip  himself,  as  he 
looks  back  at  his  past  cai-eer,  is  very 
much  moved.  "  I  do  not  deny,"  he 
says  gravely,  "  that  these  things  hap- 
pened in  the  natural  order.  I  say  I 
am  grateful  for  what  happened  ;  and 
look  back  at  the  past  not  without 
awe.  In  great  grief  and  danger  may- 
be, I  have  had  timely  rescue.  Under 
great  suffering  I  have  met  with  su- 
preme consolation.  When  the  trial 
has  seemed  almost  too  hard  for  me  it 


has  ended,  and  our  darkness  has  been 
'  lightened.      Ut  vivo  et  va/eo  —  si  valeo, 
I  know  by  whose  permission  this  is, 
]  —  and  would  you  forbid    me   to  be 
[  thankful  ?  to  be  thankful  for  my  life; 
to  be  thankful  for  my  children  ;  to  be 
i  thankful   for   the  daily  bread  which 
has    been  granted    to    me,    and    the 
temptation  from  which  I  have   been 
i  rescued  ?     As  I  think  of  the  past  and 
its  bitter  trials,  I  bow  my  head   in 
thanks  and  awe.      I  wanted  succor, 
I  and  I  found  it.     I  fell  on  evil  times, 
I  and  good  friends  pitied  and  helped 
i  me,  — good  friends  like  yourself  your 
[  dear    wife,    many    another    I    could 
name.     In  what  moments  of  depres- 
;  sion,  old  friend,   have  you  not  seen 
',  me,  and  cheered  me  ?     Do  you  know 
i  in  the  moments  of  our  grief  the  inex- 
J  pressible  value  of    your  sympathy  1 
[  Your  good  Samaritan  takes  out  only 
I  twopence    maybe    for    the    wayfarer 
I  whom  he  has  rescued,  but  the  little 
timely  supply  saves  a  life.     You  re- 
member dear  old  Ned  St.  George,  — 
1  dead  in  the  West  Indies  years  ago  ? 
I  Before   he  got    his   place   Ned    wiis 
hanging  on  in   London,    so   utterly 
poor  and   ruined,   that    he  had   not 
often  k  shilling  to  buy  a  dinner.     He 
used  often  to  come   to  us,   and  my 
wife  an  1   our  children    loved    him ; 
and  I  used  to  leave  a  heap  of  shillings 
on  my  study  table,  so  that  he  might 
take  two  or  three  as  he  wanted  them. 
Of  course  you  remember  him.     You 
were   at   the  dinner  which  we  gave 
him  on  his  getting  his  place.     I  forget 
the  cost  of  that  dinner  ;  but  I  remem- 
ber my  share  amounted  to  the  exact 
number  of  shillings  which  poor  Ned 
had  taken  off  my  table.     He  gave  me 
the   money   then    and    there  at    the 
tavern    at  Blackwall.      He    said    it 
seemed  providential.     But  for   those 
shillings,  and  the   constant   welcome 
at  our  poor  little    table,  he  said   he 
thought  he  should  have  made  away 
with  his  life.     I  am  not  bragging  of 
the    twopence    which    I    gave,    but 
thanking  Go  1  (or  sending  me  there  to 
give  it.     Benedico  benedictus.     I  won- 
der sometimes  am  I  the  I  of  twenty 


THE  ADVENTUKES   OF   PHILIP. 


365 


years  ago  ?  before  our  heads  were 
bald,  friend,  and  when  the  little  ones 
reached  up  to  our  knees  ?  Before 
dinner  you  saw  me  in  the  library 
reading  in  that  old  European  Review 
which  your  friend  Tregarvan  estab- 
lished. I  came  upon  an  article  of  my 
own,  and  a  very  dull  one,  on  a  sub- 
ject which  I  knew  nothing  about. 
'Persian  politics,  and  the  intrigues 
at  the  Court  of  Teheran.'  It  was 
done  to  order.  Tregarvan  had  some 
special  interest  about  Persia,  or  want- 
ed to  vex  Sir  Thomas  Nobbles,  who 
was  minister  there.  I  breakfasted 
with  Tregarvan  in  the  '  Albany,' 
the  facts  (we  will  call  them  facts)  and 
papers  were  supplied  to  me,  and  I 
went  home  to  point  out  the  delin- 
quencies of  Sir  Thomas,  and  the 
atrocious  intrigues  of  the  Russian 
Court.  Well,  sir.  Nobbles,  Tregar- 
van, Teheran,  all  disappeared  as  I 
looked  at  the  text  in  the  old  volume 
of  the  Review.  I  saw  a  deal  table  in 
a  little  room,  and  a  reading-lamp, 
and  a  young  fellow  writing  at  it,  with 
a  sad  heart,  and  a  dreadful  apprehen- 
sion torturing  him.  One  of  our 
children  was  ill  in  the  adjoining  room, 
and  I  have  before  me  the  figure  of  my 
wife  coming  in  from  time  to  time  to 
my  room  and  saying,  '  She  is  asleep 
now,  and  the  fever  is  much  lower.'  " 

Here  our  conversation  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  a  tall  young 
lady,  who  says,  "  Papa,  the  coffee  is 
quite  cold :  and  the  carriage  will  be 
here  very  soon,  and  both  mamma  and 
my  godmother  say  they  are  growing 
very  angry.  Do  you  know  you  have 
been  talking  here  for  two  hours  ?  " 

Had  two  hours  actually  slipped 
away  as  we  sat  prattling  about  old 
times?  As  I  narrate  them,  I  prefer 
to  give  Mr.  Firmin's  account  of  his 
adventures  in  his  own  words,  where 
I  can  recall  or  imitate  them.  Both 
of  us  are  graver  and  more  reverend 
seigniors  than  we  were  at  the  time  of 
which  I  am  writingi  Has  not  Fir- 
min's girl  grown  up  to  be  taller  than 
her  godmother  ?  Veterans  both,  we 
l«ve  to  prattle  about  the  merry  days 


j  when  wc  were  young, —  (the  merry 
I  days  (  no,  the  past  is  never  merry), — 
about  the  (hiys  when  we  were  young ; 
and  (io  we  grow  young  in  talking  of 
them,  or  only  indulge  in  a  senila 
cheerfulness  and  prolixity  ' 

Tregarvan  sleeps  with  his  Cornish 
fathers  :  Europe  for  many  years  has 
gone  on  w  ithout  her  Review :  but  it 
is  a  certainty  that  the  cstablislsment; 
of  that  occult  organ  of  opinion  tended 
very  much  to  benefit  Philip  Firmin, 
and  helped  for  a  while  to  supply  him 
and  several  innocent  people  dependent 
on  him  with  their  daily  bread.  Of 
cour.se,  as  they  were  so  jioor,  this 
worthy  family  increased  and  nuilti- 
plied  ;  and  as  they  increased,  and  as 
they  multiplied,  my  wife  insists  that 
1  should  point  out  how  support  was 
found  for  them.  "When  there  was  a 
second  child  in  Philip's  nursery,  ho 
would  have  removed  from  his  lodgings 
in  Thornhaugh  Street,  but  for  the 
prayers  and  commands  of  the  aftec- 
tionate  Little  Sister,  who  insisted 
that  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the 
house  for  everybody,  and  who  said 
that  if  Philip  went  away  she  would 
cut  oft'  her  little  godchild  with  a 
shilling.  And  then  indeed  it  was 
discovered  for  the  first  time,  that  this 
faithful  and  aflfectionate  creature  had 
endowed  Philip  with  all  her  little 
property.  These  are  the  rays  of  sun- 
shine in  the  dungeon.  These  are  the 
drops  of  water  in  the  desert.  And 
with  a  full  heart  our  friend  acknowl- 
edges how  comfort  came  to  him  la 
his  hour  of  need. 

Though  Mr.  Firmin  has  a  very 
grateful  heart,  it  has  been  admitted 
that  he  was  a  loud,  disagreeable  Fir- 
min at  times,  impetuous  in  his  talk, 
and  violent  in  his  behavior  :  and  we 
are  now  come  to  that  period  of  his 
history,  when  he  had  a  quarrel  in 
which  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Philip 
was  in  the  wrong.  Why  do  we  con- 
sort with  those  whom  we  dislike  ? 
Why  is  it  that  men  will  try  and  asso- 
ciate between  whom  no  love  is  ?  I 
think  it  was  the  ladies  who  tried  to 
reconcile  Philip  and  his  master ;  who 


366 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


brought  them  leather,  and  strove  to 
make  them  friends  ;  but  the  more 
they  met  the  more  they  disliked  each 
other ;  and  now  the  Muse  has  to  re- 
late their  final  and  irreconcilable 
rapture. 

Of  Mugford's  wrath  the  direful  tale 
relate,  O  Muse!  and  Philip's  pitiable 
fete.  I  have  shown  how  the  men  had 
long  been  inwardly  envenomed  one 
against  the  other.  "  Because  Firmin 
is  as  poor  as  a  rat,  that 's  no  reason 
why  he  should  adopt  that  hawhaw 
manner,  and  them  high  and  mighty 
airs  towards  a  man  who  gives  him 
the  bread  he  eats,"  Mugford  argued 
not  unjustly.  "  What  do  /  care  for 
his  being  a  university  man  ?  I  am 
as  good  as  he  is.  I  am  better  than 
his  old  scamp  of  a  father,  who  was  a 
college  man  too,  and  lived  in  fine 
company.  I  made  my  own  way  in 
the  world,  independent,  and  supported 
myself  since  I  was  fourteen  years  of 
age,  and  helped  my  mother  and 
brothers  too,  and  that 's  more  than 
my  sub-editor  can  say,  who  can't  sup- 
port himself  yet.  I  could  get  fifty 
sub-editors  as  good  as  he  is,  by  calling 
out  of  window  into  the  street,  I 
could.  I  say,  hang  Firmin  !  I  'm  a 
losing  all  patience  with  him."  On 
the  other  hand,  Mr.  Philip  was  in 
the  habit  of  speaking  his  mind  with 
equal  candor.  "  What  right  has  that 
person  to  call  me  Firmin  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  am  Firmin  to  my  equals 
and  friends.  I  am  this  man's  laborer 
at  four  guineas  a  week.  I  give  him 
his  money's  worth,  and  on  every  Sat- 
urday evening  we  are  quits.  Call 
me  Philip  indeed,  and  strike  me  in 
the  side.'  I  choke,  sir,  as  I  think  of 
the  confounded  femiliarity !  '  "  Con- 
found his  impudence  !  "  was  the  cry, 
and  the  not  unjust  cry,  of  the  laborer 
and  his  employer.  'The  men  should 
have  been  kept  apart :  and  it  was  a 
most  mistaken  Christian  charity  and 
female  conspiracy  which  broujrht 
them  together.  "  Another  invitation 
from  Mugford.  It  was  agreed  that  I 
was  never  to  jro  again,  and  I  won't 
go,"  says  Philip   to  his  meek  wife. 


"Write  and  say  we  are  engaged, 
Charlotte." 

"  It  is  for  the  18th  of  next  month, 
and  this  is  the  2.3d,"  said  poor  Char- 
lotte. "  We  can't  well  say  that  we 
are  engaged  so  far  off'." 

"  It  is  for  one  of  his  grand  cere- 
mony parties,"  urged  the  Little  Sis- 
ter. "  You  can't  come  to  nO  (}uarrel- 
ling  there.  He  has  a  good  heart  So 
have  you.  There 's  no  good  quar- 
relling with  him.  O  Philip,  do  for- 
give, and  be  friends  ! "  Philip  yielded 
to  the  remonstrances  of  the  women, 
as  we  all  do ;  and  a  letter  was  sent 
to  Hampstead,  announcing  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  P.  F.  would  have  the  honor 
of,  &c. 

In  his  quality  of  newspaper  pro- 
prietor, musical  professors  and  opera 
singers  paid  much  court  to  Mr.  Mug- 
fonl ;  and  he  liked  to  entertain  them 
at  his  hospitable  table ;  to  brag  about 
his  wines,  cookery,  plate,  garden,  pros- 
perity, and  private  virtue,  during 
dinner,  whilst  the  artists  sat  respect- 
fully listening  to  him  ;  and  to  go  to 
sleep,  and  snore,  or  wake  up  and  join 
cheerfully  in  a  chorus,  when  the  pro- 
fessional people  performed  in  the 
drawing-room.  Now,  there  was  a  lady 
who  was  once  known  on  the  theatre 
by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Uavenswing, 
and  who  had  been  forced  on  to  the 
stage  by  the  misconduct  of  her  hus- 
band, a  certain  Walker,  one  of  the 
greatest  scamps  who  ever  entered  a 
jail.  On  Walker's  death,  this  lady 
married  a  Mr.  Woolsey,  a  wealthy 
tailor,  who  retired  from  his  business, 
as  he  caused  his  wife  to  withdraw  from 
hers. 

Now,  moie  worthy  and  honorable 
people  do  not  live  than  Woolsey  and 
his  wife,  as  tliose  know  who  were  ac- 
quainted with  their  history.  Mrs. 
Woolsey  is  loud.  Her  k's  are  by  no 
means  where  they  should  be ;  her 
knife  at  dinner  is  often  where  it  should 
not  be.  She  calls  men  aloud  by  their 
names,  and  without  any  prefix  of 
courtesy.  She  is  very  fond  of  porter, 
and  has  no  scruple  in  asking  for  it. 
She  sits  down  to  play  the  piano  and  to 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


367 


sing  with  perfect  good-nature,  and  if 
you  look  at  her  liands  as  they  wander 
over  tiie  keys,  —  well,  I  don't  wish  to 
say  anything  unkind,  but  1  am  forced 
to  own  that  those  hands  are  not  so 
white  as  the  ivory  which  they  thump. 
Woolsey  sits  in  perfect  rapture  listen- 
ing to  his  wife.  Mugford  presses  her 
to  take  a  glass  of  "  somethink  "  after- 
wards ;  and  the  good-natured  soul 
says  she  will  ttike  "something  'ot." 
she  sits  and  listens  with  infinite 
patience  and  good-humor  whilst  the 
little  Mugfbrds  go  through  their  hor- 
rible little  musical  exercises  ;  and  these 
over,  she  is  ready  to  go  back  to  the 
piano  again,  and  sing  more  songs,  and 
drink  more  "  'ot." 

I  do  not  say  that  this  was  an  elegant 
woman,  or  a  fitting  companion  for 
Mrs.  Philip ;  but  I  know  that  Mrs. 
Woolsey  was  a  good,  clever,  and 
kindly  woman,  and  that  Philip  be- 
haved rudely  to  her.  He  never  meant 
to  be  rude  to  her,  he  said ;  but  the 
truth  is,  he  treated  her,  her  husband, 
Mugford,  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  with  a 
haughty  ill-humor  which  utterly  ex- 
asperated and  perplexed  them. 

About  this  poor  lady,  who  was 
modest  and  innocent  as  Susannah, 
Philip  had  heard  some  wicked  e!ders 
at  wicked  clubs  tell  wicked  stories  in 
old  times.  There  was  that  old  Trail, 
for  instance,  whatwoman  escaped  from 
his  sneers  and  slander  ?  There  were 
others  who  could  be  named,  and  whose 
testimony  was  equally  untruthful.  On 
an  ordinary  occasion  Philip  would 
never  have  cared  or  squabbled  about 
a  question  of  precedence,  and  would 
have  taken  any  place  assigned  to  him 
at  any  table.  But  when  Mrs.  Woolsey 
in  crumpled  satins  and  blowsy  lace 
made  her  appearance,  and  was  eagerly 
and  respectfully  saluted  by  the  host 
and  hostess,  Philip  remembered  those 
early  stories  al)Out  the  poor  lady  :  his 
eyes  flashed  wrath,  and  his  breast  beat 
with  an  indignation  which  almost 
choked  him.  Ask  that  woman  to 
meet  my  wife  f  he  thought  to  himself 
and  looked  so  ferocious  and  desperate 
that  the  timid  little  wife  gazed  with 


alarm  at  her  Philip,  and  crept  up  to 
him  and  whispered,  "  What  is  it, 
dear  t  " 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Mugford  and  Mrs. 
Woolsey  were  in  full  colloquy  about 
the  weather,  the  nursery,  and  so  forth, 
—  and  Woolsey  and  Mugford  giving 
each  other  the  hearty  grasp  of  friend- 
ship. Philip,  then,  scowling  at  the 
newly  arrived  guests,  tm-ning  his 
great  hulking  back  upon  the  com- 
pany, and  talking  to  his  wife,  presented 
a  not  agreeable  figure  to  his  enter- 
tainer. 

"  Hang  the  fellow's  pride ! "  thought 
Mugford.  "  He  chooses  to  turn  his 
back  upon  my  company  because 
Woolsey  was  a  tradesman.  An  honest 
tailor  is  better  than  a  bankrupt, 
swindling  doctor,  I  should  think. 
Woolsey  need  not  be  ashamed  to  show 
his  face,  I  suppose.  Why  did  you 
make  me  ask  that  fellar  again,  Mrs. 
M. "?  Don't  you  see,  our  society  ain't 
good  enough  for  him  ?  " 

Philip's  conduct,  then,  so  irritated 
Mugford,  that  when  dinner  was  an- 
nounced, he  stepped  forward  and 
ofl'ered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Woolsey ; 
having  intended  in  the  first  instance 
to  confer  that  honor  upon  Charlotte. 
"  I  '11  show  him,"  thought  Mugford, 
"  that  an  honest  tradesmaii's  ladj'  who 
pays  his  way,  and  is  not  afraid  of  any- 
body, is  better  than  my  sub-editor's 
wife,  the  daughter  of  a  bankrupt 
swell."  Though  the  dinner  was  il- 
luminated by  Mugford's  grandest 
plate,  and  accompanied  by  his  very 
best  wine,  it  was  a  gloomy  and  weary 
repast  to  several  people  present,  and 
Philip  and  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say 
Mugford,  thought  it  never  would  he, 
done.  Mrs.  Woolsey,  to  be  sure, 
placidly  ate  her  dinner,  and  drank 
her  wine  ;  whilst,  remembering  these 
wicked  legends  against  her,  Philip 
sat  before  the  poor  unconscious  lady, 
silent,  with  glaring  eyes,  insolent  and 
odious  ;  so  much  so,  that  Mrs.  Wool- 
sey imparted  to  Mrs.  Mugford  her 
surmise  that  the  tall  gentleman  must 
have  got  out  of  bed  the  wrong  leg 
foremost. 


568 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


Well,  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage  and 
Mr.  Firmiu's  cab  were  announced  at 
the  same  moment;  and  immediately 
Philip  started  up  and  beckoned  his 
wife  away.  But  Mrs.  Woolsey's  car- 
riage and  lamps  of  course  had  the 
precedence ;  and  this  lady  Mr.  Mug- 
ford  accompmied  t<i  her  caniage 
step. 

He  did  not  pay  the  same  attention 
to  Mrs.  Firinin.  Most  likely  he  for- 
got, rossiuly  he  did  not  think  eti-. 
qucttc  required  he  should  show  that 
sort  of  politeness  to  a  sub-editor's 
wife  :  at  any  rate,  he  wa-i  not  .so  rude 
as  P.iilip  himself  had  been  during  the 
evening,  but  he  stood  in  the  hall  look- 
ing at  his  guests  departing  in  their 
cab,  when,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  p  is- 
sion,  Piiilip  stepped  out  of  the  car- 
riage, and  stalked  up  to  his  host,  who 
stood  there  in  his  own  hall  confront- 
ing him,  Philip  declared,  with  a  most 
impudent  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Come  back  to  light  a  pipe,  I  .sup- 
pose ?  Nice  thing  for  your  wife,  ain't 
it  ?  "  said  Mugford,  relishing  liis  own 
joke. 

"  I  am  come  back,  sir,"  said  Philip, 
glaring  at  Mugford,  "  to  ask  how  you 
dared  invite  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  to 
meet  that  woman  ?  " 

Here,  on  his  side,  Mr.  Mugford 
lost  his  temper,  and  from  this  mo- 
ment his  wrong  begins.  When  he 
was  in  a  passion,  the  language  used  by 
Mr.  Mugford  was  not,  it  appears, 
choice.  VVe  have  heard  that,  when 
angry,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swear- 
ing freely  at  his  subordinates.  He 
broke  out  on  this  occasion  also  with 
many  oaths.  He  told  Philip  that  he 
would  stand  his  impudence  no  longer ; 
that  he  was  as  good  as  a  swindling 
doctor's  son  ;  that  though  he  had  n't 
been  to  college  he  could  buy  and  pay 
them  as  had;  and  that  if  Philip  liked 
to  come  into  the  back  yard  for  ten 
minutes,  he  'd  give  him  one  —  two, 
and  show  him  whether  he  was  a  man 
or  not.  Poor  Char,  who,  indeed,  fan- 
cied that  her  husband  had  gone  back 
to  light  his  cigar,  sat  awhile  uncon- 
scious in  her  cab,  and  supposed  that 


:  the  two  gentlemen  were  engaged  on 
j  newspaper  business.    AV^hen  Mugford 
began   to   pull   his    coat  otf,  she  sat 
'  wondering,  hut  not  in  the  least  under- 
,  standing  the  meaning  of  the  action. 
!  Philip  had  described  his  emplo\er  as 
walking   about   his  office  without   a 
;  coat  and  using  energetic  language. 
I      But  when,  attracted   by  the   loud- 
ness of  the  talk,  Mrs.  Mugford  came 
forth  from  her  neighboring  drawing- 
i  room,  accompanied    by   such  of  her 
I  children  as  had  not  yet  gone  to  loost, 
—  when,  seeing  Mugford  pulling  olf 
his  dress-coat,  she  began  to  scream, — 
when,  lifting  his  voice  over  hers,  Mug- 
ford poured   forth  oaths,  and   franti- 
cally shook  his  lists  at  Philip,  asking 
how  that  blackguard  dared  insult  him 
in  his  own  house,  and  proposing  to 
knock  his  head  off  at  that  moment, — 
then   jx>or   Char,   in    a   wild   alarm, 
sprang  out  of  the  cab,  ran  to  her  hus- 
i)and,  whos!  who  c  frame  was  throb- 
bing,   whose   nostrils   were   snorting 
with  pa.ssion.     Then  Mrs.  Mugford, 
i  springing  forward,  placed  her  ample 
1  form  before  her  husband's,  and  call- 
ing Philip   a   jireat   cowardly  beast, 
asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  attack 
that  little  old  man  ?     Then  Mugford, 
dashing  his  coat  down  to  the  ground, 
called  with  fresh  oaths  to  Philip   to 
come  on.     And,  in  fine,  there  was  a 
most  unpleasant  row,  occasioned  by 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  hot  temper. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

RES    ANGC8TA    DOMI. 

To  reconcile  these  two  men  was  im- 
possible, after  such  a  quarrel  as  that 
described  in  the  last  chapter.  The 
only  chance  of  peace  was  to  keep  the 
two  men  apart.  If  they  met,  they 
would  fly  at  each  other.  Mugford  al- 
ways persisted  that  he  could  have  got 
the  better  of  his  great  hulking  subed- 
itor, who  did  not  know  the  use  of  his 
fists  In  Mugford's  youthful  time, 
bruising  was  a  fashionable  art ;  and 
the  old  gentleman  still  believed  in  his 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


360- 


own  skill  and  prowess.  "  Don't  tell  i 
me,"  he  would  say  ;  "  though  the  fol- 
iar is  as  big  as  a  life-guardsman,  I 
would  have  doubled  him  up  in  two  ; 
minutes."  I  am  very  glad,  for  poor 
Charlotte's  sake  and  his  own,  that 
Philip  did  not  undergo  the  doubling- 
up  process.  He  himself  felt  such  a 
wrath  and  surprise  at  his  employer 
as,  I  suppose,  a  lion  does  when  a  little 
dog  attacks  him.  I  should  not  like 
to  be  that  little  dog  ;  nor  does  my  mod- 
est and  peaceful  nature  at  all  prompt 
and  impel  me  to  combat  with  lions. 
It  WHS  mighty  well  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min  had  known  his  spirit,  and  quar- 
relled with  his  bread-and-butter  ;  but 
when  Saturday  came,  what  philan- 
thropist would  hand  four  sovereigns 
and  four  shillings  over  to  Mr.  F.,  as 
Mr.  Burjoyce,  the  publisher  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  had  been  ac- 
customed to  do  ?  I  will  say  for  my 
friend  that  a  still  keener  remorse  than 
that  whicli  he  felt  about  money  thrown 
away  attended  him  when  he  found  that 
Mrs.  Woolsej',  towards  whom  he  had 
cast  a  sidelong  stone  of  persecution, 
was  a  most  respectable  and  honorable 
lady.  "  I  should  like  to  go,  sir,  and 
grovel  before  her,"  Philip  said,  in  his 
energetic  way.  "  If  I  see  that  tailor,  I 
will  request  him  to  put  his  foot  on  my 
head,  and  trample  on  me  with  his  high- 
lows  O,  for  shame !  for  shame ! 
Shall  I  never  learn  charity  towards  my 
neighbors,  and  always  go  on  believing 
in  the  lies  which  people  tell  me  ? 
When  I  meet  that  scoundrel  Trail  at 
the  club,  I  must  chastise  him.  How 
dared  he  take  away  the  reputation  of 
an  honest  woman  ?  "  Philip's  friends 
besought  him,  for  the  sake  of  society 
and  peace,  not  to  carry  this  quarrel 
farther.  "If,"  we  said,  "every  woman 
whom  Trail  has  maligned  had  a 
champion  who  should  box  Trail's  ears 
at  the  club,  what  a  vulgar,  quarrel- 
some place  that  club  would  become  !  i 
My  dear  Philip,  did  you  evei*  know 
Mr.  Trail  say  a  good  word  of  man  or 
woman  ?  "  and  by  these  or  similar  | 
entreaties  and  arguments,  we  succeed- 1 
ed  in  keeping  the  Queen's  peace.  | 

16* 


Yes  :  but  how  find  another  Pall 
Mall  Gazette?  Had  Philip  possessed 
seven  thousand  pounds  in  the  three 
per  cents,  his  income  would  have  been 
no  greater  than  that  which  he  drew 
from  Mugford's  faithful  bank.  Ah! 
how  wonderful  ways  and  means  are ! 
When  I  think  how"  this  very  line,  this 
very  word,  which  I  am  writing  repre- 
sents money,  I  am  lost  in  a  respectful 
astonishment.  A  man  lakes  his  own 
case,  as  he  says  his  own  prayers,  on 
behalf  of  himself  and  his  family.  I 
am  paid,  we  will  say,  for  the  sake  of 
illustration,  at  the  rate  of  sixpence 
per  line.  With  the  words,  "  Ah,  how 
wonderful,"  to  the  words  "  per  line," 
I  can  buy  a  loaf,  a  piece  of  butter,  a 
jug  of  milk,  a  modicum  of  tea,  — act- 
ually enough  to  make  breakfast  for 
the  family ;  and  ihe  servants  of  the 
house  ;  and  the  charwoman,  tlwir  ser- 
vant, can  shake  up  the  tea-leaves  with 
a  fresh  supply  of  water,  sop  the  crusts, 
and  get  a  meal  taiH  lien  que  mal. 
Wife,  children,  guests,  servants,  char- 
woman, we  are  all  actually  making  a 
meal  off  Philip  Firm  in 's  bones  as  it 
were.  And  my  next-door  neighbor, 
whom  I  see  marching  away  to  cham- 
bers, umbrella  in  hand  "?  And  next 
door  but  one  the  City  man  ?  And 
next  door  but  two  the  doctor!  —  I 
know  the  baker  has  left  loaves  at  ev- 
ery one  of  their  doors  this  morning, 
that  all  their  chimneys  arc  smoking, 
and  they  will  all  have  breakfast. 
Ah,  thank  God  for  it !  I  hope,  friend, 
you  and  I  are  not  too  proud  to  ask 
for  our  daily  bread,  and  to  be  grate- 
ful for  getting  it  ?  Mr.  Philip  had  to 
work  for  his,  in  care  and  trouble,  like 
other  children  of  men :  —  to  work 
for  it,  and  I  hope  to  pray  for  it,  too. 
It  is  a  thought  to  me  awful  and  hcau- 
tiful,  that  of  the  daily  prayer,  and  of 
the  myriads  of  fellownien  uttering  it, 
in  care  and  in  sickness,  in  doubt  and 
in  poverty,  in  health  and  in  wealth. 
Partem  nostrum  da  nolns  hcxiie.  Philip 
whispers  it  by  the  bedside  where  wife 
and  child  lie  sleeping,  and  goes  to  his 
early  labor  with  a  stouter  heart :  as 
he  creeps  to  his  rest  when  the  day's 


570 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


labor  is  over,  and  the  quotidian  bread 
is  earned,  and  breathes  his  hushed 
thanks  to  the  bountiful  Giver  of  the 
meal.  All  over  this  world  what  an 
endless  chorus  is  singing  of  love,  and 
thanks,  and  prayer.  Day  tells  to  day 
the  wondrous  story,  and  night  re- 
counts it  unto  night.  —  How  do  I 
come  to  think  of  a  sunrise  which  I 
saw  near  twenty  years  ago  on  the 
Nile,  when  the  river  and  sky  flushed 
and  glowed  with  the  dawning  light, 
and  as  the  luminary  appeared,  the 
boatmen  knelt  on  the  rosy  deck,  and 
adored  Allah  ?  So,  as  thy  sun  rises, 
friend,  over,  the  humble  housetops 
round  about  your  home,  shall  you 
wake  many  and  many  a  day  to  duty 
and  labor.  May  the  task  have  been 
honestly  done  when  the  night  comes  ; 
and  the  steward  deal  kindly  with  the 
laborer. 

So  two  of  Philip's  cables  cracked 
and  gave  way  sifter  a  very  brief  strain, 
and  the  poor  fellow  held  by  nothing 
now    but   that  wonderful    European 
Review  established  by  the  mysterious 
Tregarvan.     Actors,  a  people  of  su- 
perstitions and  traditions,  opine  that 
Heaven,  in    some    mysterious    way, 
makes  managers  for  their  benefit.    In  j 
like  manner,  Renew  proprietors  are  j 
sent   to  provide  the  pabulum  for   us  ' 
men  of  letters.     With  what  compla- 1 
cency  did  my  wife  listen  to  the  some- , 
what  long-winded  and  pompous  ora-  | 
tory  of  Tregarvan  !    He  pompous  and 
commonplace  ?        Tregarvan     spoke  , 
with  excellent    good   sense.       That 
wily  woman  never  showed  she   was  ' 
tired  of  his  conversation.    She  praised 
him  to  Philip  behind  his   back,  and  ' 
would  not  allow  a  word  in  his  dispar- 
ageinent.      As   a  doctor  will  punch 
your  chest,   your  liver,   your  heart,  j 
listen   at   your   lungs,   squeeze  your  , 
pulse,  and  what  not,  so  this  practi- 
tioner studied,  shampooed,  ausculta- 1 
ted  Tregarvan.    Of  course  he  allowed  j 
himself  to   be    operated   upon.      Of ' 
course  he  had  no  idea  that  the  lady  [ 
was  flattering,    wheedling,  humbug- 
ging him ;  but  thought  that  he  was 
a  very  well-informed,  eloquent  man,  i 


who  had  seen  and  read  a  great  deal, 
and  had  an  agreeable  method  of  im- 
parting his  knowledge,  and  that  the 
lady  in  question  was  a  sensible  wo- 
man, naturally  eager  for  more  infor- 
mation. Go,  Delilah  !  I  understand 
your  tricks  !  I  know  many  another 
Omphale  in  London  who  will  coax 
Hercules  away  from  his  club  to  come 
and  listen  to  her  wheedling  talk 

One  great  difficulty  we  had  was  to 
make  Philip  read  Tregarvan 'sown  ar- 
ticles in  the  Review.  He  at  first  said  he 
could  not,  or  that  he  could  not  remem- 
ber them  ;  so  that  there  was  no  use  in 
reading  them.  And  Philip's  new  mas- 
ter used  to  make  artful  allusions  to  his 
own  writings  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion so  that  our  unwary  friend  would 
find  himself  under  examination  in  any 
casual  interview  with  Tregarvan, 
whose  opinions  on  free-trade,  malt- 
tax,  income-tax,  designs  of  Russia,  or 
what  not,  might  be  accepted  or 
denied,  but  ought  at  least  to  be 
known.  We  actually  made  Philip 
get  up  his  owner's  articles.  We  put 
questions  to  him,  privily,  regarding 
them,  —  "coached"  him,  according 
to  the  university  phrase.  My  wife 
humbugged  that  wretched  Member  of 
Parliament  in  a  way  which  makes 
me  shudder,  when  I  think  of  what 
hypocrisy  the  sex  is  capable.  Those 
arts  and  dissimulations  with  which 
she  wheedles  others,  suppose  she 
e-xercise  them  on  me?  Horrible 
thought !  No,  angel !  To  others 
thou  mayest  be  a  coaxing  hvpocrite; 
to  me  thou  art  all  candor.  Other  men 
may  have  been  humbuirged  by  other 
women  ;  bnt  I  am  not  to  be  taken  in 
by  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  thou  art 
all  candor ! 

We  had  then  so  much  per  annum 
as  editor.  We  were  paid,  besides,  for 
our  articles.  We  had  really  a  snug 
little  pension  out  of  this  Review,  and 
we  prayed  it  might  last  forever.  We 
might  write  a  novel.  We  might  con- 
tribute articles  to  a  daily  paper ;  get 
a  little  parliamentary  practice  as  a 
barrister.  We  actually  did  get  Philip 
into  a  railway  case  or  two,  and  my 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


371 


wife  must  be  coaxing  and  hugfging 
solicitors'  ladies,  as  she  had  wheedled 
and  coaxed  Members  of  rarliament. 
Why,  I  do  believe  my  Delilah  set  up 
a  flirtation  with  old  Bishop  Crossticks 
with  an  idea  of  gettin;^'  her  proleye  a 
living ;  and  though  the  lady  indig- 
nantly repudiates  this  charge,  will  she 
be  pleased  to  explain  how  thebislioji's 
sermons  were  so  outrageously  praised 
in  the  Review  t 

Philip's  roughness  and  frankness 
did  not  displease  Tregarvan,  to  the 
wonder  of  us  all,  who  trembled  lest 
he  should  lose  this  as  he  had  lost  his 
former  place.  Tregarvan  had  more 
country-houses  than  one,  and  at  these 
not  only  was  the  editor  of  the  Review 
made  welcome,  but  the  editor's  wife 
and  children  whom  Tregarvan's  wife 
took  into  especial  regard.  In  London 
Lady  Mary  had  assemblies  where  our 
little  friend  Charlotte  made  her  ap- 
pearance ;  and  half  a  dozen  times  in 
the  course  of  the  season  the  wealthy 
Cornish  gentleman  feasted  his  retain- 
ers of  the  Review.  His  wine  was  ex- 
cellent and  old ;  his  jokes  were  old, 
too  ;  his  table  pompous,  grave,  plen- 
tiful. If  Philip  was  to  eat  the  bread 
of  dependence,  the  loaf  was  here 
very  kindly  prepared  for  him  ;  and 
he  ate  it  humbly,  and  with  not  too 
much  grumbling.  This  diet  chokes 
some  proud  stomachs  and  disagrees 
with  them  ;  but  Philip  was  very  hum- 
ble now,  and  of  a  nature  grateful  for 
kindness.  He  is  one  who  requires 
the  help  of  friends,  and  can  accept 
benefits  without  losing  independence, 
—  not  all  men's  gifts,  but  some  men's, 
whom  he  repays  not  only  with  coin, 
but  with  an  immense  affection  and 
gratitude.  How  that  man  did  laugh 
at  my  witticisms !  How  he  wor- 
shipped the  ground  on  which  my  wife 
walked  !  He  elected  himself  our 
champion.  He  quarrelled  with  other 
people,  who  found  fault  with  our 
characters,  or  would  not  see  our  per- 
fections. There  was  something  affect- 
ing in  the  way  in  which  this  big  man 
took  the  humble  place.  We  could  do 
no  wrong  in  his  eyes  ;  and  woe  betide 


the  man  who  spoke  disparagingly  of 
us  in  his  presence  ! 

j      One    day,   at  his   patron's    table, 

!  Philip  exercised  his  valor  and  cham- 
pionship  in  our  behalf  by  defending 

■  us  against  the  evil-speaking  of  that 
Mr.  Trail,  who  has  been   mentioned 

!  before  as  a  gentleman  difficult  to 
please,  and  credulous  of  ill  regarding 

i  his  neighbor.  The  talk  happened  to 
fall  u])on  the  character  of  the  reader's 
most  humble  servant,  and  Trail,  as 
may  be  imagined,  spared  me  no  more 
than  the  rest  of  mankind.  Would 
you  like  to  be  liked  by  all  people  1 
That  would  be  a  reason  why  Trail 
should  hate  you.  Were  you  an  angel 
fresh  dropped  from  the  skies,  he  would 
espy  dirt  on  your  robe,  and  a  black 
feather  or  two  in  your  wing.  As  for 
me,  I  know  I  am  not  angelical  at  all ; 
and  in  walking  my  native  earth,  can't 
help  a  little  mud  on  my  trousers. 
Well :  Mr.  Trail  began  to  paint  my 
portrait,  laying  on  those  dark  shad- 
ows which  that  well-known  master  is 
in  the  habit  of  employing.  I  was  a 
parasite  of  the  nobility  ;  I  was  a  heart- 
less sycophant,  house-breaker,  drunk- 
ard, murderer,  returned  convict,  &c., 
&.C.  With  a  little  imagination,  Mrs. 
Candor  can  fill  up  the  outline,  and 
arrange  the  colors  so  as  to  suit  her 
amiable  fancy. 

Philip  had  come  late  to  dinner ;  — 
oft/iis  fault,  I  must  confess,  he  is  guil- 
ty only  too  often.  The  company  were 
at  table  ;  he  took  the  only  place  va- 
cant, and  this  happened  to  be  at  the 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  On  Trail's  other 
side  was  a  portly  individual,  of  a  heal- 
thy and  rosy  countenance  and  volumi- 
nous white  waistcoat,  to  whom  Trail 
directed  much  of  his  amiable  talk,  and 
whom  he  addressed  once  or  twice  as 
Sir  John.  Once  or  twice  already  we 
have  seen  how  Philip  has  quarrelled 
at  table.  He  cried  mca  ciiIjhi  loudly 
and  honestly  enough.  He  made  vows 
of  reform  in  this  particular.  He  suc- 
ceeded, dearly  beloved  brethren,  not 
much  worse  or  better  than  you  and  I 
do,  who  confess  our  faults,  and  go  on 
promising  to  improve,  and  stumbling 


372 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


and  picking  ourselves  up  every  day. 
The  pavement  of  life  is  strewed  with 
orange-peel ;  and  who  has  not  slipped 
on  the  Hags  f 

"  He  is  the  most  conceited  man  in 
London,"  —  Trail  was  going  on, 
"  and  one  of  the  most  worldly.  He 
will  throw  over  a  colonel  to  dine  with 
a  general.  He  would  n't  throw  over 
you  two  baronets,  —  he  is  a  great  deal 
too  shrewd  a  fellow  for  that.  He 
would  n't  give  i/ou  up,  perhaps,  to  dine 
with  a  lord ;  but  any  ordinary  bar- 
onet ho  would." 

"  And  why  not  us  as  well  as  the 
rest  ?  "  asks  Tregarvan,  who  seemed 
amused  at  the  speaker's  chatter. 

"  liecause  you  are  not  like  common 
baronets  at  all.  Because  your  estates 
are  a  great  deal  too  large.  Because, 
I  suppose,  you  might  either  of  you  go 
to  the  Upper  House  anj"-  day.  Be- 
cause, as  an  author,  he  may  be  sup- 
posed to  be  afraid  of  a  certain  Re- 
view," cries  Trail,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Trail  is  speaking  of  a  friend  of 
yours,"  said  the  host,  nodding  and 
smiling,  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Verylucky  for  my  friend,"  growls 
Philip,  and  eats  his  soup  in  silence. 

"  By  the  way,  that  article  of  his  on  | 
Madame   de   Sevigne   is  poor    stuff.  ! 
No  knowledge  of  the  period.     Three  \ 
gross  blunders    in  French.     A  man  ! 
can't  write  of  French   society  unless  : 
he    has     lived    in     French     society.  1 
What  does    Pendennis   know   of  it? 
A  man  who  makes  blunders  like  those 
can't   understand    French.     A    man  ' 
who  can't  speak  French  can't  get  on 
in     French     society.     Therefore     he  | 
can't  write  about  French  society.     All  i 
these  propositions  are  clear  enough. 
Thank  you.     Dry  champagne,  if  you  ] 
please.     He  is   enormously  overrated,  j 
1  tell  you  ;  and  so  is  his  wife.     They  i 
used  to  put  her  forward  as  a  beauty  : 
and  she  is  only  a  dowdy  woman  out 
of  a  nursery.     She  has  no  style  about 
her." 

"  She  is  only  one  of  the  best  women 
in  the  world,"  Mr.  Firmin  called  out, 
turning  very  red ;  and  hereupon  en- 
tered into  a  defence  of  our  characters, 


and  pronounced  a  eulogium  upon 
both  and  each  of  us,  in  which  I  hope 
there  was  some  little  truth.  How- 
ever, he  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm, 
and  Mr.  Trail  found  himself  in  a 
minority. 

"  You  are  right  to  stand  up  for 
your  friends,  Firmin  I "  cried  the  host. 
"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  — " 

"  Let  me  introduce  myself,"  said 
the  gentleman  on  the  other  side  of 
Mr.  Trail.  "  Mr.  Firmin,  you  and  I 
are  kinsmen,  —  lam  Sir  John  Ring- 
wood."  And  Sir  John  reached  a 
hand  to  Philip  across  Trail's  chair. 
They  talked  a  great  deal  together  in 
the  course  of  the  evening :  and  when 
Mr.  Trail  found  that  the  great  county 
gentleman  was  friendly  and  familiar 
with  Philip,  and  claimed  a  relation- 
ship with  him,  his  manner  towards 
Firmin  altered.  He  pronounced  af- 
terwards a  warm  eulogy  upon  Sir 
John  for  his  frankness  and  good-na- 
ture in  recognizing  his  unfortunate 
relative,  and  charitably  said,  "  Philip 
might  not  be  like  the  Doctor,  and 
could  not  help  having  a  rogue  for  a 
father."  In  former  days.  Trail  had 
eaten  and  drunken  freely  at  that 
rogue's  table.  But  we  must  have 
truth,  you  know,  liefore  all  things  : 
and  if  your  own  brother  has  com- 
mitted a  sin,  common  justice  requires 
that  you  should  stone  him. 

In  former  d<avs,  and  not  long  after 
Lord  Ringwood's  death,  Philip  had 
left  his  card  at  this  kinsman's  door, 
and  Sir  John's  butler,  driving  in  his 
master's  brougham,  had  left  a  card 
upon  Philip,  who  was  not  over  well 
pleased  by  this  acknowledgment  of 
his  civility,  and,  in  fact,  employed 
abusive  epitliets  when  he  spoke  of  the 
transaction.  But  when  the  two  gen- 
tlemen actually  met,  their  intercourse 
was  kindly  and  pleasant  enough. 
Sir  John  listened  to  his  relative's  t^dk 
—  and  it  appears,  Philip  comp<jrted 
himself  with  his  usual  free  and  easy 
manner — with  interest  and  curios- 
ity ;  and  owned  iifterwarls  that  evil 
tongues  had  previously  l)een  busy 
with  the  young  man's  character,  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


373 


that  slander  and  untruth  had  been 
spoken  rej;arding  him.  In  this  re- 
spect, if  Philip  is  worse  ott'  tlian  his 
neighbors,  I  can  only  say  his  neigh- 
bors are  fortunate. 

Two  days  after  the  meeting  of  the 
cousins,  the  tranquillity  of  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  was  disturbed  by  the 
appearance  of  a  magnificent  yellow 
chariot,  with  crests,  hammer  cloths,  a 
bewigged  coachman,  and  a  powdered 
footman.  Betsy,  the  nurse,  who  was 
going  to  take  baby  out  for  a  walk, 
encountered  this  giant  on  the  tllre^h- 
old  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  door :  and  a 
lady  within  the  chariot  delivered  thi-ee 
cards  to  the  tall  menial,  who  trans- 
ferred them  to  Betsy.  And  Betsy 
persisted  in  saying  that  the  lady  in 
the  carriage  admired  baby  very  much, 
and  asked  its  age,  at  which  baby's 
mamma  was  not  in  the  least  sur- 
prised. In  due  course,  an  invitation 
to  dinner  followed,  and  our  friends 
became  acquainted  with  their  kins- 
folk. 

If  you  have  a  good  memory  for 


pedigrees  —  and  in  my  youthful  time 
every  man  de.  bonne  uuiison  studied 
genealogies,  and  had  his  English  1am- 
ilies  in  his  memory  —  you  know  that 
this  Sir  John  Kingwood,  who  suc- 
ceeded to  the  principal  portion  of  the 
estates,  but  not  to  the  titles  of  the 
late  Earl,  was  descended  from  a  mu- 
tual ancestor,  a  Sir  John,  whose  elder 
son  was  ennobled  (temp.  Geo.  I.), 
whilst  the  second  son,  following  the 
legal  profession,  became  a  judge,  and 
had  a  son,  who  became  a  baronet,  and 
who  begat  that  present  Sir  John  who 
has  just  been  shaking  hands  with 
Philip  across  Trail's  back.*  Thus 
the  two  men  were  cousins ;  and  in 
right  of  the  heiress,  his  poor  mother, 
Philip  might  quarter  the  Kingwood 
arms  on  his  carnage,  whenever  he 
drove  out.  These,  vou  know,  are  ar- 
gent, a  dexter  siiiople  on  a  fesse  wavy 
of  the  first,  —  or  pick  out,  my  dear 
friend,  any  coat  you  like  out  of  the 
whole  heraldic  wardrobe,  and  accom- 
modate it  to  our  friend  Eirmin. 
When  he  was  a  young  man  at  col- 


*  Copied,  by  permission  of  P.  Firmin,  Esq.,  from  the  Oeaealogical  Tree  in  his  possession. 

Sir  J.  Ringwood,  Bart., 

of  Wingate  and  Whipham. 

b.  1649  ;  ob.  1Y25. 


Sir  J.,  Bart., 

1st  Baron  Ringwood. 

ob.  1770. 


John,  2rt  Baron, 

created  Earl  of  Ringwood 

and  Visct.  Cinqbars. 

Charles,  Visct.  Cinqbars 
b.  1802  ;  ob.  1824. 


Philip, 

a  Colonel  in  the  Army. 

ob.  1803. 


Sir  Philip,  Knt., 
Baron  of  the  Exchequer 


Sir  John,  Bart., 
of  the  Hays. 


Sir  John  of  the  Hays, 

and  now  of 

Wingate  and  Whipham, 

has  issue. 


Maria, 

b.  1801, 

m*  Talbot  Twysden, 

and  had  issue. 


Louisa, 

b.  1802, 

md  G.  B.  Firmin,  Esq.,  m.  d. 


Oliver,  Philip, 

Hamp<len,  Franlilin, 

and  daughters. 


Philip,  h.  1825, 

subject  of  the 
present  Memoir. 


374 


THE  ADVENTUEES   OF  PHILIP. 


lege,  Philip  had  dabbled  a  little  in  i 
this  queer  science  of  heraldry,  and  j 
used  to  try  and  believe  the  legends 
about  his  ancestry,  which  his  fond 
mother  imparted  to  him.  He  had  a 
great  book-plate  made  for  himself, 
with  a  prodigious  number  of  quurter- 
ings,  and  could  recite  the  alliances  by 
which  such  and  such  a  quartering 
came  into  his  shield.  His  father 
rather  confirmed  these  histories,  and 
spoke  of  them  and  of  his  wife's  noble 
family  with  much  respect :  and  Phil- 
ip, artlessly  whispering  to  a  vulgar 
boy  at  school  that  he  was  descended 
from  King  John,  was  thrashed  very 
unkindly  by  the  vulgar  upjjer  boy, 
and  nicknamed  King  John  for  many 
a  long  day  after.  I  dare  say  many 
other  gentlemen  who  profess  to  trace 
their  descent  from  ancient  kings  have 
no  better  or  worse  authority  for  their 
pedigree  than  friend  Philip. 

When  our  friend  paid  his  second 
visit  to  Sir  John  Ilingwood,  he  was 
introduced  to  his  kinsman's  library; 
a  great  family-tree  hung  over  the 
mantel-piece,  surrounded  by  a  whole 
gallery  of  defunct  llingwooJs,  of 
whom  the  Baronet  was  now  the  rep- 
resentative. He  quoted  to  Philip  the 
hackneyed  old  Ovidian  lines  (some 
score  of  years  ago  a  great  deal  of  that 
old  coin  Wiis  current  in  conversation). 
As  for  family,  he  said,  and  ancestors, 
and  what  we  have  not  done  ourselves, 
these  things  we  can  hardly  call  ours. 
Sir  John  gave  Pliilip  to  understand 
that  he  was  a  stanch  Liberal.  Sir 
John  was  for  going  with  the  age.  Sir 
John  ha  i  fired  a  shot  from  the  Paris 
barricades.  Sir  John  was  for  the 
rights  of  man  everywhere  all  over 
the  world.  Hi  ha  I  pictures  of  Frank- 
lin, Lifayette,  Washington,  and  the 
first  Consul  Buonaparte,  on  his  walls 
along  with  his  ancestors.  He  had 
lithograph  copies  of  Magna  Charta, 
the  Declaration  of  American  Inde- 
pendence, and  the  Signatures  to  the 
Death  of  Charles  I.  He  did  not 
scruple  to  own  his  preference  for  re- 
publican institutions.  He  wished  to 
know  what  right  had  any  man  —  the 


late  Lord  Ringwood,  for  example  — 
to  sit  in  a  hereditary  House  of  Peers 
and  legislate  over  him?  That  lord 
had  had  a  son,  Cinqbars,  who  died 
many  years  before,  a  victim  of  his 
own  follies  and  debaucheries.  Had 
Lord  Cinqbars  survived  his  father,  he 
would  now  be  sitting  an  earl  in  the 
House  of  Peers,  —  the  most  ignorant 
young  man,  the  most  unprincipled 
young  man,  reckless,  dissolute,  of 
the  feeblest  intellect,  and  the  worst 
life.  Well,  had  he  lived  and  inher- 
ited the  Ringwood  property,  that 
creature  would  have  been  an  earl : 
whereas  he,  Sir  John,  his  superior  in 
morals,  in  character,  in  intellect,  his 
equal  in  point  of  birth  (for  had  they 
not  both  a  common  ancestor  ?  )  was 
Sir  John  still.  The  inequalities  in 
men's  chances  in  life  were  monstrous 
and  ridiculous.  He  was  determined, 
henceforth,  to  look  at  a  man  for  him- 
self alone,  and  not  esteem  him  for 
any  of  the  absurd  caprices  of  fortune. 
As  the  republican  was  talking  to 
his  relative,  a  servant  came  into  the 
room  and  whispered  to  his  master 
that  the  plumber  had  come  with  his 
bill  as  by  appointment  ;  upon  which 
Sir  John  rose  up  in  a  fury,  asked  the 
servant  how  he  dared  to  disturb  him, 
and  bade  him  tell  the  plumber  to  go 
to  the  lowest  depths  of  Tartarus. 
Nothing  could  equal  the  insolence  and 
rapacity  of  tradesmen,  he  said,  except 
the  insolence  and  idleness  of  servants ; 
and  he  called  this  one  back,  and  asked 
him  how  he  dared  to  leave  the  fire  in 
that  state  ?  —  stormed  r.nd  raged  at 
him  with  a  volubility  which  aston- 
ished his  new  acquaintance  ;  and,  the 
man  being  gone,  resumed  his  pre- 
vious subject  of  conversation,  viz. 
natural  equality  and  the  outrageous 
injustice  of  the  present  social  system. 
After  talking  for  half  an  hour,  during 
which  Philip  found  that  he  himself 
could  hardly  find  an  opportunity  of 
uttering  a  word.  Sir  John  took  out 
his  watch,  and  got  up  from  his  chair ; 
at  which  hint  Philip  too  rose,  not 
sorry  to  bring  the  interview  to  an 
end.    And  herewith  Sir  John  accom- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


375 


panied  his  kinsman  into  the  hall,  and 
to  the  street  door,  before  which  the 
Baronet's  j^room  was  riding-,  leading 
his  master's  horse.  And  Philip  heard 
the  Baronet  using  violent  language 
to  the  groom  as  he  had  done  to  the 
servant  within  doors.  Why,  the  army 
in  Flanders  did  not  swear  more  terri- 
bly than  this  admirer  of  republican 
institutions  and  advocate  of  the  rights 
of  man. 

Philip  was  not  allowed  to  go  away 
without  appointing  a  day  when  he 
and  his  wife  would  partake  of  their 
kinsman's  hospitality.  On  this  occa- 
sion, Mrs.  Philip  comported  herself 
with  so  much  grace  and  simplicity, 
that  Sir  John  and  Lady  llingwood 
pronounced  her  to  be  a  very  pleasing 
and  ladylike  person  ;  and  I  dare  say 
wondered  how  a  person  in  her  rank  of 
life  could  have  acquired  manners  that 
were  so  refined  and  agreeable.  Lady 
Ringwood  asked  after  the  child  which 
she  had  seen,  prait-ed  its  beauty  ;  of 
course,  won  the  mother's  heart,  and 
thereby  caused  her  to  speak  with  per- 
haps more  freedom  than  she  would 
otherwise  have  felt  at  a  first  interview. 

Mrs.  Philip  has  a  dahity  touch  on 
the  piano,  and  a  sweet  singing  voice 
that  is  charmingly  true  and  neat. 
She  ])erformed  after  dinner  some  of 
the  songs  of  her  little  re'jiertoire,  and 
pleased  her  audience.  Lady  Ring- 
wood  loved  good  music,  and  was  her- 
self a  fine  performer  of  the  ancient 
school,  when  she  played  Haydn  and 
Moziirt  under  the  tuition  of  good  old 
Sir  George  Thrum.  The  tall  and 
handsome  beneficed  clergyman  who 
acted  as  mnjor-domo  of  Sir  John's 
establishment  placed  a  parcel  in  the 
carriage  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip 
took  their  leave,  and  announced  with 
much  respectful  deference  that  the  cab 
was  paid.  Our  friends  no  doubt 
would  have  preferred  to  dispense  with 
this  ceremony ;  but  it  is  ill  looking 
even  a  gift  cab-horse  in  the  mouth, 
and  so  Philip  was  a  gainer  of  some 
two  shillings  by  his  kinsman's  liber- 
ality. 

When  Charlotte  came  to  open  the 


parcel  which  major-domo,  with  hig 
lady's  compliments,  had  placed  in  the 
cab,  I  fear  she  did  not  exhibit  that 
elation  which  we  ought  to  feel  for  the 
favors  of  our  friends.  A  couple  of 
little  frocks,  of  the  cut  of  George  IV., 
some  little  red  shoes  of  the  same 
period,  some  crumpled  sashes,  and 
other  small  articles  of  wearing-ap- 
parel, by  her  Ladyship's  order  by  her 
Ladyship's  lady's-maid ;  and  Lady 
King-wood,  kissing  Charlotte  at  her 
departure,  told  her  that  she  had 
caused  this  little  packet  to  be  put 
away  for  her.  "  H  'm,"  says  Philip, 
only  half  pleased.  "  Suppose  Sir 
John  had  told  his  butler  to  put  up 
one  of  his  blue  coats  and  brass  but- 
tons for  me,  as  well  as  pay  the  cab  t  " 

"  If  it  was  meant  in  kindness, 
Philip,  we  must  not  be  angry,"  plead- 
ed Philip's  wife  ;  —  "  and  I  am  sure  if 
you  had  heard  her  and  the  Miss  Ring- 
woods  speak  of  baby,  you  would  like 
them,  as  I  intend  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  Philip  never  put  those 
mouldy  old  red  shoes  upon  baby  ;  and 
as  for  the  little  frocks,  children's  frocks 
are  made  so  much  fuller  now  that 
Lady  Ringwood's  presents  did  not 
answer  at  all.  Charlotte  managed  to 
furbish  up  a  sash,  and  a  pair  of 
epaulets  for  her  child, —  epaulets  are 
they  called  ?  Slioulder-knots, —  what 
you  will,  ladies ;  and  with  these  orna- 
ments Miss  Firmin  was  presented  to 
Lady  Ringwood  and  some  of  her 
family. 

The  good-will  of  these  new-found 
relatives  of  Philip's  was  laborious, 
was  evident,  and  yet  I  must  say  was 
not  altogether  agreeable.  At  the 
first  period  of  their  intercourse  —  for 
this,  too,  1  am  sorry  to  say,  came  to 
an  end,  or  presently  suffered  inter- 
ruption —  tokens  of  afi'ection  in  the 
shape  of  farm  produce,  country  but- 
ter and  poultry,  and  i'Ctiial  butcher's 
meat,  came  from  Berkeley  Square  to 
Thomhaugh  Street.  The  Duke  of 
Double-glo'stcr  I  know  is  much  rich- 
er than  you  are ;  but  if  he  were  to 
offer  to  make  you  a  present  of  half  a 
crown,  I  doubt  whether  you  would  be 


376 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


quite  pleased.  And  so  with  Philip 
and  his  relatives.  A  hamper  brought 
in  the  brougham,  containing  hot- 
house grapes  and  country  butter,  is 
very  well,  but  a  leg  of  mutton  I  own 
was  a  gift  that  was  rather  tough  to 
swallow.  It  ?ms  tough.  That  point  we 
ascertained  and  established  amongst 
roars  of  laughter  one  day  when  we 
dined  with  our  friends.  Did  Lady 
Kingwood  send  a  sack  of  turnips  in 
the  brougham  too  ?  In  a  word,  we 
ate  Sir  John's  mutton,  and  we  laugh- 
c  1  at  him,  and  be  sure  many  a  man 
has  doue  the  same  by  you  and  me. 
L\st  Friday,  for  instance,  as  Jon.'S 
and  Brown  go  away  after  dining  with 
your  humble  servant.  "  Did  you 
ever  see  such  profusion  and  extrava- 
gance ?  "  asks  Brown.  "  Profusion 
and  extravagance !  "  cries  Jones,  that 
well-known  epicure.  "  I  never  saw 
anything  so  shabby  in  ray  life. 
What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  asking 
me  to  such  a  dinner  ?  "  "  True," 
says  the  other,  "  it  was  an  abomina- 
ble dinner,  Jones,  as  you  justly  say  ; 
but  it  was  very  profuse  in  him  to  give 
it.  Don't  you  see?"  and  so  both 
our  good  friends  are  agreed. 

Ere  many  days  were  over  the  great 
yellow  chariot  and  its  powdered  at- 
tendants again  made  their  appearance 
before  Mrs.  Brandon's  modest  door  in 
Thornhaugh  .Street,  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  and  two  daughters  descended 
from  the  carriage  and  made  their  way 
to  Mr.  Philip's  apartments  in  the 
second  floor,  just  as  that  worthy  gen- 
tleman was  sitting  down  to  dinner 
with  his  wife.  Lady  Ringwood,  bent 
upon  being  gracious,  was  in  ecstasies 
with  everything  she  saw  — a  clean 
house,  —  a  nice  little  maid,  —  pretty 
picturesque  rooms, — odd  rooms, — 
and  what  charming  pictures  !  Sever- 
al of  these  were  the  work  of  the  fond 
pencil  of  poor  J.  J.,  who,  as  has  been 
told,  had  painted  Philip's  lieard  and 
Charlotte's  eyel)row,  and  Charlotte's 
baby  a  thousand  and  a  thousand 
times.  "  May  we  come  in  ?  Are  we 
disturbing  you  ?  What  dear  little 
bits  of   china !      What  a    beautiful 


mug,  Mr.  Firmin ! "  This  was  poor 
J.  J.'s  present  to  his  goddaughter. 
"  How  nice  the  luncheon  looks ! 
Dinner,  is  it  1  How  pleasant  to  dine 
at  this  hour  !  "  The  ladies  were  de- 
termined to  be  charmed  with  every- 
thing round  about  them. 

"  We  are  dining  on  your  poultry. 
May  we  offer  some  to  you  and  Miss 
Ringwood,"  says  the  master  of  the 
house. 

"  Why  don't  you  dine  in  the  din- 
ing-room? Why  do  you  dine  in  a 
bedroom  ?  "  asks  Franklin  Ringwood, 
the  interesting  young  son  of  the  Baron 
of  Ringwood. 

"  Somebody  else  lives  in  the  par- 
lor," says  Mrs.  Philip.  On  which  the 
boy  remarks,  "  We  have  two  dining- 
rooms  in  Berkeley  Square.  I  mean 
for  us,  besides  papa's  study,  which 
I  mustn't  go  into.  And  the  ser- 
vants have  two  dining-rooms  and  —  " 

"  Hush  !  "  here  cries  mamma,  with 
the  usual  remark  regarding  the  beauty 
of  silence  in  little  boys. 

But  Franklin  persists  in  spite  of 
the  "  Hushes  !  "  "  And  so  we  have  at 
Ringwood;  and  at  Whipham  there's 
ever  so  many  dining-rooms,  —  ever  so 
many,  —  and  I  like  Whipham  a  great 
deal  better  than  Ringwood,  because 
my  pony  is  at  Whipham.  You  have 
not  got  a  pony.     You  are  too  poor." 

"  Franklin ! " 

"  You  said  he  was  too  poor ;  and 
you  would  not  have  had  chickens 
if  we  had  not  given  tliem  to  you. 
Mamma,  you  know  you  said  they 
were  very  poor,  and  would  like  them." 

And  here  mamma  looked  red,  and 
I  dare  say  Philip's  cheeks  and  ears 
tingled,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Philip  was 
thankful  at  hearing  her  baby  cry,  for 
it  gave  her  a  |)retext  for  leaving  the 
room  and  flying  to  thenursery  whither 
the  other  two  ladies  accompanied  her. 

"  Meanwhile  Master  Franklin  went 
on  with  his  artless  conversation, 
"  Mr.  Philip,  why  do  they  say  you 
are  wicked  ?  You  do  not  look  wick- 
ed ;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Philip  does 
not  look  wicked,  —  she  looks  very 
good." 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


377 


"  Who  says  I  am  wicked  ' "  asks 
Mr.  Firmin  of  his  candid  young  rel- 
ative. 

"  O,  ever  so  many !  Cousin  King- 
wood  says  so  ;  and  Bhxnchc  says  so  ; 
and  Woolcomb  says  so;  only  I  don't 
like  him,  he 's  so  very  brown.  And 
when  they  heard  you  liad  been  to  din- 
ner, '  Has  that  beast  been  here  '.  ' 
Hingwood  says.  And  I  don't  like 
him  a  bit.  But  I  like  you,  at  least  I 
think  1  do.  You  only  have  oranges 
for  dessert.  We  always  have  lots  of 
things  for  dessert  at  home.  You  don't, 
1  suppose,  because  you  've  got  no 
money, — only  a  very  little." 

"VVell:  1  have  got  only  a  very 
little,"  says  Philip. 

"  I  have  some,  —  ever  so  much. 
And  I  '11  buy  sometliing  for  your  wife  ; 
and  1  shall  like  to  have  yon  better  at 
home  than  Blanche,  and  Hingwood, 
and  that  Woolcomb  ;  and  they  never 
give  me  anything.  You  can't,  you 
know  ;  because  you  are  so  very  poor, 
—  you  are  ;  but  we  '11  often  send  you 
things,  I  dare  say.  And  I  '11  have 
an  orange,  please,  thank  you.  And 
there 's  a  chap  at  our  school,  and  his 
name  is:  Suckling,  and  he  ate  eighteen 
oranges,  and  would  n't  give  one  away 
to  anybody.  Was  n't  he  a  greedy 
pig  ?  And  I  have  wine  with  my 
oranges,  —  I  do :  a  glass  of  wine,  — 
thank  you.  That's  jolly.  But  you 
don't  have  it  ofteti,  I  suppose,  because 
you  're  so  very  poor." 

I  am  glad  Philip's  infant  could  not 
understand,  being  yet  of  too  tender 
age,  the  compliments  which  Lady 
liingwood  and  her  daughter  passed 
upon  her.  As  it  was,  the  compli- 
ments charmed  the  mother,  for  whom 
indeed  they  were  intended,  and  did 
not  inflame  the  unconscious  baby's 
vanity. 

Wiiat  would  the  polite  mamma  and 
sister  have  said,  if  they  had  heard 
that  unlucky  Franklin's  prattle  1  The 
boy's  simplicity  amused  his  tall  cous- 
in. "  Yes,"  says  Philip,  "  we  are  very 
poor,  but  we  are  very  happy,  and  don't 
mind,  —  that 's  the  truth." 

"  Mademoiselle,  that 's  the  German 


governess,  said  she  wondered  how  yon 
could  live  at  all ;  and  1  don't  think 
you  could  if  you  ate  as  much  as  she 
ilid.  You  should  see  her  eat;  she  is 
such  a  oiter  at  eating.  Fred,  my  broth- 
er, that's  the  one  who  is  at  college, 
one  day  tried  to  see  how  Mademoiselle 
Walltisch  could  eat,  and  she  had  twice 
of  soup,  and  then  she  said  sivoplui/ ; 
and  then  twice  of  fish, and  she  said  siio- 
jilui/  for  more ;  and  then  she  had  roast 
mutton,  —  no,  I  think,  roast  beef  it 
was  ;  and  she  eats  the  peas  with  her 
knife ;  and  then  she  had  raspberry- 
jam  f>udding,  and  ever  so  much  beer, 
and  then  —  "  But  what  came  then 
we  never  shall  know ;  because  while 
young  Franklin  was  choking  with 
laughter  (accompanied  with  a  large 
piece  of  orange)  at  the  ridiculous  rec- 
ollection of  Miss  Wallfisch's  appetite, 
his  mamma  and  sister  came  down 
stairs  from  Cliarlotte's  nursery,  and 
brought  the  dear  boy's  conversation 
to  an  end.  The  ladies  chose  to  go 
home,  delighted  with  Philip,  baby, 
Charlotte.  Everything  was  so  proper. 
Everything  was  so  nice.  Mrs.  Fir- 
min was  so  ladylike.  The  fine  ladies 
watched  her,  and  her  behavior,  with 
that  curiosity  which  the  Brobdingnag 
ladies  displayed  when  they  held  up 
little  Gulliver  on  their  ])alms,  and  saw 
him  bow,  smile,  dance,  druw  his  sword, 
and  take  off  his  hat,  just  like  a  man. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

IN      WHICH      THE      DRAWING-KOOM3 
ARE    NOT    FURNISHED    AFTER   ALL. 

We  cannot  expect  to  be  loved  by 
a  relative  whom  we  have  knocked 
into  an  illuminated  pond,  and  whose 
coat-tails,  pantaloons,  nether  limbs, 
and  l>est  feelings  we  have  lacerated 
with  ill  treatment  and  broken  glass. 
A  man  whom  you  have  so  treated 
behind  his  back  will  not  be  sparing 
of  his  punishment  l)ehind  yours.  Of 
course  all  the  Tvvysdens,  male  and 
female,   and   Woolcomb,   the   dusky 


378 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


husband  of  Philip's  former  love,  hated 
and  feared,  and  maligned  him ;  and 
were  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  him 
as  a  truculent  and  reckless  savage  and 
monster,  coarse  and  brutal  in  his 
language  and  behavior,  ragged,  dirty 
and  reckless  in  his  personal  appear- 
ance ;  reeking  with  smoke,  perpetual- 
ly reeling  in  drink,  indulging  in 
oaths,  actions,  laughter  which  ren- 
dered him  intolerable  in  civilized  so- 
ciety. The  Twysdens,  during  Phil- 
ip's absence  abroad,  had  been  very 
respectful  and  assiduous  in  courting 
the  new  head  of  the  Ringwood  family. 
They  had  flattered  Sir  John,  and 
paid  court  to  my  Lady.  They  had 
bean  welcomed  at  Sir  John's  houses 
in  town  and  country.  They  had 
adopted  his  politics  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, as  they  had  adopted  the  politics 
of  the  deceased  peer.  They  had 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  abusing 
poor  Philip  and  of  ingratiating  them- 
selves. They  had  never  refused  any 
invitation  from  Sir  John  in  town  or 
country,  and  had  ended  by  utterly 
boring  him  and  Lady  Ringwood  and 
the  Ringwood  family  in  general. 
Lady  Ringwood  learned  somewhere 
how  pitilessly  Mrs.  Woolcomb  had 
jilted  her  cousin  when  a  richer  suitor 
appeared  in  the  person  of  the  West- 
Indian.  Then  news  came  how  Phil- 
ip had  administered  a  beating  to 
Woolcomb,  to  young  Twysden,  to  a 
dozon  who  set  on  him.  The  early 
l)rejudices  began  to  pass  away.  A 
friend  or  two  of  Philip's  told  Ring- 
wood  how  he  was  mistaken  in  the 
young  man,  and  painted  a  portrait 
of  him  in  colors  much  more  favorable 
than  those  which  his  kinsfolk  em- 
ployed. Indeed,  dear  relations,  if  the 
public  wants  to  know  our  little  faults 
and  errors,  I  think  I  know  who  will 
not  grudge  the  reijuisite  information. 
Dear  aunt  Candor,  are  you  not  still 
alive,  and  don't  you  know  what  we 
had  for  dinner  yesterday,  and  the 
amount  (monstrous  extravagance!) 
of  the  washerwoman's  bill  ? 

Well,  the  Twysden  family  so    be- 
spattered poor  Philip  with  abuse,  and 


represented  him  as  a  monster  of  such 
hideous  mien,  that  no  wonder  the 
Ringwoods  avoided  him.  They  then 
began  to  grow  utterly  sick  and  tired 
of  his  detractors.  And  then  Sir  John, 
happening  to  talk  with  his  brother 
Member  of  Parliament,  Tregarvan, 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  heard  quite 
a  different  story  regarding  our  friend 
to  that  with  which  the  Twysdens  had 
regaled  him,  and,  with  no  little  sur- 
prise on  Sir  John's  part,  was  told 
by  Tregarvan  how  honest,  rough, 
worthy,  affectionate,  and  gentle  this 
poor  maligned  fellow  was,  how  he 
had  been  sinned  against  by  his  wretch 
of  a  father,  whom  he  had  forgiven 
and  actually  helped  out  of  his  wretch- 
ed means,  and  how  he  was  making  a 
brave  battle  against  poverty,  and  had 
a  sweet  little  loving  wife  and  child, 
whom  every  kind  heart  would  willing- 
ly strive  to  help.  Because  people  are 
rich  they  are  not  of  necessity  ogres. 
Because  they  are  born  gentlemen  and 
ladies  of  good  degree,  are  in  easy  cir- 
cumstances, and  have  a  generous  edu- 
cation, it  does  not  follow  that  they 
are  heartless  and  will  turn  their  back 
on  a  friend.  Moi  qui  voiis  jmrle,  —  I 
have  been  in  a  great  strait  of  sickness 
near  to  death,  and  the  friends  who 
came  to  help  me  with  every  comfort, 
succor,  sympathy,  were  actually  gen- 
tlemen, who  lived  in  good  houses,  and 
had  a  good  education.  They  did  n't 
turn  away  because  I  was  sick,  or  fly 
from  me  because  they  thought  I  was 
poor ;  on  the  contrary,  hand,  purse, 
succor,  sympathy  were  ready,  and 
praise  be  to  Heaven.  And  so  too  did 
Philip  find  help  when  he  needed  it, 
and  succor  when  he  was  in  poverty. 
Tregan'an,  we  will  own,  wus  a  pom- 
pous little  man,  his  House  of  Com- 
mons speeches  were  dull,  and  his 
written  documents  awfully  slow  ;  but 
he  had  a  kind  heart :  he  was  touched 
by  that  picture  which  Laura  drew  of 
the  young  man's  poverty,  and  hon- 
esty, and  simple  hopefulness  in  the 
midst  of  hard  times  :  and  we  have 
seen  how  the  European  Review  was 
thus  intrusted  to  Mr.   Philip's  man- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


379 


a^ement.  Then  some  artful  friends 
of  Philip's  determined  that  he  should 
be  reconciled  to  his  relations,  who 
were  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and 
might  serve  him.  And  I  wish,  dear 
reader,  that  your  respectable  relatives 
and  mine  would  bear  this  little  para- 
graph in  mind  and  leave  us  both 
handsome  legacies.  Then  Tregarvan 
spoke  to  Sir  John  Ringwood,  and  that 
meeting  was  brought  about,  where, 
for  once  at  least,  Mr.  Philip  quarrelled 
with  nobody. 

And  now  came  another  little  piece 
of  good  luck,  which,  I  suppose,  must 
be  attributed  to  the  same  kind  friend 
who  had  been  scheming  for  Philip's 
benefit,  and  who  is  never  so  happy  as 
when  her  little  plots  for  her  friends' 
benefit  can  be  made  to  succeed.  Yes  : 
when  that  arch-jobber — don't  tell 
me;  —  I  never  knew  a  woman  worth 
a  pin  who  was  n't  —  when  that  arch- 
jobber,  I  say,  has  achieved  a  job  by 
which  some  friend  is  made  happy,  her 
eyes  and  cheeks  brighten  with  tri- 
umph. Whether  she  has  put  a  sick 
man  into  a  hospital,  or  got  a  poor 
woman  a  family's  washing,  or  made 
a  sinner  repent  and  return  to  wife, 
husband,  or  what  not,  that  woman 
goes  off  and  pays  her  thanks,  where 
thanks  are  due,  with  such  fervor, 
with  such  lightsomeness,  with  such 
happiness,  that  I  assure  you  she  is  a 
sight  to  behold.  Hush  !  When  one 
sinner  is  saved,  who  are  glad  ?  Some 
of  us  know  a  woman  or  two  pure  as 
'  angels,  —  know,  and  are  thankful. 

When  the  person  about  whom  I 
have  been  prattling  has  one  of  her  be- 
nevolent jobs  in  hand,  or  has  com- 
pleted it,  there  is  a  sort  of  triumph 
and  mischief  in  her  manner,  which  I 
don't  know  otherwise  how  to  describe. 
She  does  not  understand  my  best 
jokes  at  this  period,  or  answers  them 
at  random,  or  laughs  very  absurdly 
and  vacantly.  She  embraces  her  chil- 
dren wildly,  and,  at  the  most  absurd 
moments,  is  utterly  unmindful  when 
they  are  saying  their  lessons,  prattling 
their  little  questions  and  so  forth.  I 
recall  all  these  symptoms  (and  pat 


this  and  that  together,  as  the  saying 
is)  as  happening  on  one  especial  day, 
at  tlie  commencement  of  Easter  Term, 
eighteen  hundred  and  never  mind 
what,  —  as  happening  on  one  especial 
morning  when  this  lady  had  been  as- 
toundingly  distraite  and  curiously  ex- 
cited. I  now  remember,  how  during 
her  children's  dinner-time,  she  sat 
looking  into  the  square  out  of  her 
window,  and  scarcely  attending  to 
the  little  innocent  cries  for  mutton 
which  the  children  were  offering  up. 

At  last  there  was  a  rapid  clank 
over  the  pavement,  a  tall  figure  passed 
the  parlor  windows,  which  our  kind 
friends  know  look  into  Queen  Square, 
and  then  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell, 
and  I  thought  the  mistress  of  the 
house  gave  an  ah  —  a  sigh  —  as 
though  her  heart  was  relieved. 

The  street  door  was  presently 
opened,  and  then  the  dining-room 
door,  and  Philip  walks  in  with  his 
hat  on,  his  blue  eyes  staring  before 
him,  his  hair  flaming  about,  and  "  La, 
Uncle  Philip  ! "  cry  the  children. 
"  What  have  you  done  to  yourself  ? 
You  have  shaved  off  your  mustache." 
And  so  he  had,  I  declare  ! 

"  I  say,  Pen,  look  here  !  This  has 
been  left  at  chambers;  and  Cassidy 
has  sent  it  on  by  his  clerk,"  our  friend 
said.  I  forget  whether  it  has  been 
stated  that  Philip's  name  still  re- 
mained on  the  door  of  those  chambers 
in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  we 
once  heard  his  song  of  "  Doctor  Lu- 
ther," and  were  present  at  his  call- 
supper. 

The  document  which  Philip  pro- 
duced was  actually  a  brief  The  pa- 
pers were  superscribed,  "  In  Parlia- 
ment, Polwheedlc  and  Tredyddlum 
Railway.  To  support  bill,  Mr.  Fir- 
min ;  retainer,  five  guineas ;  brief, 
fifty  guineas ;  consultation,  five  guin- 
eas. With  you  Mr.  Armstrong, 
Sir  J.  Whitworth,  Mr.  Pinkerton." 
Here  was  a  wonder  of  wonders  !  A 
shower  of  gold  was  poured  out  on  my 
friend.  A  light  dawned  upon  me. 
The  proposed  bill  was  for  a  Cornish 
line.     Our  friend  Tregarvan  was  con- 


380 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


cerned  in  it,  the  line  passing  through 
his  property,  and  my  wife  had  can- 
vassed him  privately,  and  by  her 
wheedling  and  blandishments  had 
persuaded  Tregarvan  to  use  his  inter- 
est with  the  agents  and  get  Philip  this 
welcome  aid. 

Philip  eyed  the  paper  with  a  queer 
expression.  He  handled  it  as  some 
men  handle  a  baby.  He  looked  as  if 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it, 
and  as  if  he  should  like  to  drop  it.  I 
believe  I  made  some  satirical  remark 
to  this  effect  as  I  looked. at  our  friend 
with  his  paper. 

"  He  holds  a  child  beautifully,"  said 
my  wife  with  much  enthusiasm, 
"  much  better  than  some  people  who 
laugh  at  him." 

"  And  he  will  hold  this  no  doubt 
much  to  his  credit.  May  this  be  the 
father  of  man  v  briefs.  Mav  you  have 
bags  full  cf  them  !  "  Philip  had  all 
our  good  wishes.  They  did  not  cost 
much,  or  avail  much,  but  they  were 
sint-ere.  I  know  men  who  can't  for 
the  lives  of  them  give  even  that  cheap 
coin  of  good-will,  but  hate  their  neigh- 
bors' prosperity,  and  are  angry  with 
them  when  they  cease  to  be  dependent 
and  poor. 

We  have  said  how  Cassidy's  aston- 
ished clerk  had  brought  the  relief 
from  chambers  to  Firmin  at  his  lodg- 
ings at  Mrs.  Brandon's  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street.  Had  a  bailiff  served 
him  with  a  writ,  Philip  could  not 
have  been  more  surprised,  or  in  a 
greater  tremor.  A  brief?  Grands 
Dieux !  What  was  he  to  do  with  a 
brief?  He  thought  of  going  to  bed, 
and  being  ill,  or  flying  from  home, 
country,  family.  Brief?  Charlotte, 
of  course,  seeing  her  husband  alarmed, 
began  to  quake  too.  Indeed,  if  his 
Worship's  tins;er  aches,  does  not  her 
whole  body  suffer  ?  But  Charlotte's 
and  Philip's  constant  friend,  the  Lit- 
tle Sister,  felt  no  such  fear.  "Now 
there  's  this  opening,  you  must  take 
it,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  Suppose 
you  don't  know  much  about  law  — " 
"  Much  !  nothing,"  interposed  Philip. 
"  Yea   might  ask    me    to  play   the 


piano ;  but  as  I  never  happened  to 
have  learned  —  " 

"La,  —  don't  tell  me  !  You  must 
n't  show  a  faint  heart.  Take  the 
business,  and  do  it  best  you  can. 
You  '11  do  it  better  next  time,  and 
next.  The  Bar  's  a  gentleman's 
business.  Don't  I  attend  a  judge's 
lady,  which  I  remember  her  with  her 
first  in  a  little  bit  of  a  house  in  Ber- 
nard Street,  Russell  Square ;  and  now 
have  n't  I  been  to  her  in  Eaton 
Square,  with  a  butler  and  two  foot- 
men, and  carriages  ever  so  many  ? 
You  may  work  on  at  your  newspa- 
pers, and  get  a  crust,  and  when 
you  're  old,  and  if  you  quarrel,  — 
and  you  have  a  knack  of  quarrelling, 
—  he  has,  Mrs.  Firmin.  I  knew  him 
before  you  did.  Quarrelsome  he  is, 
and  he  will  be,  though  you  think  him 
an  angel,  to  be  sure.  —  Suppose  you 
quarrel  with  your  newspaper  masters, 
and  your  reviews,  and  that  you  lose 
your' place?  A  gentleman  like  Mr. 
Philip  ought  n't  to  have  a  master.  I 
could  n't  bear  to  think  of  your  going 
down  of  a  Saturday  to  the  publish- 
ing oflice  to  get  your  wages  like  a 
workman." 

"  But  I  am  a.  workman,"  interposes 
Philip. 

"  La !  But  do  3'ou  mean  to  remain 
one  forever  ?  I  would  rise,  if  I  was 
a  man  !  "  said  the  intrepid  little 
woman  ;  "  I  would  rise,  or  I  'd  know 
the  reason  why.  Who  knows  how 
many  in  family  you  're  going  to  be  ? 
I  'd  have  more  spirit  than  to  live  in  a 
second  floor,  — I  would  !  " 

And  the  Little  Sister  ,said  this, 
though  she  clung  round  Philip's  child 
with  a  rapture  of  fondness  which  she 
tried  in  vain  to  concesvl ;  though  she 
felt  that  to  part  from  it  would  be  to 
part  from  her  life's  chief  happiness ; 
though  she  loved  Philip  as  her  own 
son:  and  Charlotte  —  well,  Charlotte 
for  Philip's  sake  —  as  women  love 
other  women. 

Charlotte  came  to  her  friends  ia 
Queen  Square,  and  told  us  of  the 
resolute  Little  Sister's  advice  and  con- 
versation.    She  knew  that  Mrs.  Braa- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


381 


don  only  loved  her  as  sonicthiii};  bc- 
lon};iii^  to  I'hilip.  She  ii(linire<l  this 
Little  Sister  ;  and  trusted  lier  ;  and 
could  afford  to  bear  that  little  some- 
what scornful  domination  which 
Brandon  exercised.  "  she  does  not 
love  me,  because  Philip  does,"  Char- 
lotte said.  "  Do  yon  think  I  could 
like  her,  or  any  woman,  if  1  thoujiht 
Philip  loved  them  ?  I  could  kill 
them,  Laura,  that  I  could  !  "  And 
at  this  sentiment  I  imagine  dag- 
gers shooting  out  of  a  pair  of  eyes 
that  were  ordinarily  very  gentle  and 
bright. 

Not  having  been  engaged  in  the 
case  in  which  Philip  liad  the  honor 
of  Hrst  appearing,  I  cannot  enter  into 
particulars  regarding  it,  but  am  sure 
that  case  must  have  been  uncommon- 
ly strong  in  itself  which  could  sur- 
vive such  an  advocate.  He  passed  a 
frightful  night  of  torture  before  ap- 
pearing in  committee-room.  During 
that  night,  he  says,  his  hair  grew 
gray.  His  old  college  friend  and 
comrade  Pinkerton,  who  was  with 
him  in  the  case,  "coached"  him  on 
the  day  previous  ;  and  indeed  it  must 
be  owned  that  the  work  which  he  had 
to  perform  was  not  of  a  nature  to  im- 
pair the  inside  or  the  outside  of  his 
skull.  A  great  man  was  his  leader ; 
his  friend  Pinkerton  followed  ;  and 
all  Mr.  Philip's  business  was  to  ex- 
amine a  half-dozen  witnesses  by  ques- 
tions previously  arranged  between 
them  and  the  agents. 

When  you  hear  that,  as  a  reward 
of  his  services  in  this  case,  Mr.  Fir- 
min  received  a  sum  of  money  suffi- 
cient to  pay  his  modest  family  ex- 
penses for  some  four  months,  I  am 
sure,  dear  and  respected  literary 
friends,  that  you  will  wish  the  lot  of 
a  parliamentary  barrister  had  been 
yours,  or  that  your  immortal  works 
could  be  paid  with  such  a  liberality 
as  rewards  the  labors  of  these  law- 
yers. "  Nnnmor  (rscheinen  die  Goiter 
allein."  After  one  agent  had  em- 
ployed Philip,  another  came  and  se- 
cured his  valuable  services :  him  two 
or  three    others    followed,   and  our 


friend  positively  had  money  in  bank. 
.Not  only  were  a|>prehensions  of  pov- 
erty removed  for  the  present,  but  we 
had  every  reason  to  hope  that  Fir- 
min's  prosperity  would  increase  and 
continue.  And  when  a  little  son  and 
heir  was  born,  which  blessing  was 
conferred  upon  Mr.  Philij)  about  a 
year  after  his  daughter,  our  godchild, 
saw  the  light,  we  should  have  thought 
it  shame  to  have  any  misgivings  about 
the  future,  so  cheerfnl  did  Philip's 
prospects  appear.  "  Did  1  not  tell 
you,"  said  my  wife,  with  her  usual 
kindling  romance,  "  that  comfort  and 
succor  would  be  found  for  these  in 
the  hour  of  their  need  1 "  Amen. 
We  were  grateful  that  comfort  and 
succor  should  come.  No  one,  I  am 
sure,  was  more  humbly  thankful  than 
Philip  himself  for  the  fortunate 
chances  which  befell  him. 

He  was  alarmed  rather  than  elated 
by  his  sudden  prosperity.  "  It  can't 
last,"  he  said.  "  Don't  tell  me. 
The  attorneys  must  find  me  out  be- 
fore long.  They  cannot  continue  to 
give  their  business  to  such  an  igno- 
ramus :  and  I  really  think  I  must  re- 
monstrate with  them."  You  should 
have  seen  the  Little  Sister's  indigna- 
tion when  Philip  uttered  this  senti- 
ment in  her  presence.  "  Give  up 
your  business  ?  Yes,  do !  "  she  criecl, 
tossing  np  Philip's  youngest  horn. 
"  Fling  this  baby  out  of  window, 
why  not  indeed,  which  Heaven  has 
sent  it  you  !  You  ought  to  go  down 
on  your  knees  and  ask  pardon  for 
having  thought  anything  so  wicked." 
Philip's  heir,  by  the  way,  immediate- 
ly on  his  entrance  to  the  world,  iiad 
become  the  prime  favorite  of  this  un- 
reasoning woman.  The  little  daugh- 
ter was  passed  over  as  a  little  person 
of  no  account,  and  so  began  to  enter- 
tain the  pas.sion  of  jealousy  at  almost 
the  very  eariiest  age  at  which  even 
the  female  breast  is  capable  of  enjoy 
ing  it. 

And  though  this  Little  Sister 
loved  all  these  ])eople  with  an  almost 
ferocious  passion  of  love,  and  lay 
awake,  I  believe,  hearing  their  infau- 


382 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


tine  cries,  or  crept  on  stealthy  feet  in 
darkness  to  their  mother's  chamber 
door,  behind  which  they  lay  sleepinj^  ; 
though  she  had,  as  it  were,  a  rage  for 
these  infants,  and  was  wretched  out 
of  their  sight,  yet,  when  a  third  and 
a  fourth  brief  came  to  Philip,  and  he 
was  enabled  to  put  a  little  money 
aside,  nothing  would  content  Mrs. 
Brandon  but  that  he  should  go  into  a 
house  of  his  own.  "A  gentleman," 
she  said,  "  ought  not  to  live  in  a  two- 
pair  lodging ;  he  ought  to  have  a 
house  of  his  own."  So,  you  see,  she 
hastened  on  the  preparations  for  her 
own  execution.  She  trudged  to  the 
brokers'  shops  and  made  wonderful 
bargains  of  furniture.  She  cut 
chintzes,  and  covered  sofas,  and  sewed, 
and  patched,  and  fitteil.  She  found 
a  house  and  took  it,  —  .Vlilman  Street, 
Guildford  Street,  opposite  the  Fond- 
ling (as  the  dear  little  soul  called 
it),  a  most  genteel,  quiet  little  street, 
"and  quite  near  for  me  to  come,"  she 
said,  "  to  see  my  dears."  Did  she 
speak  with  dry  eyes  ?  Mine  moisten 
sometimes  when  I  think  of  the  faith, 
of  the  generosity,  of  the  sacrifice,  of 
that  devoted   loving  creature. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Charlotte.  Her 
sweetness  and  simplicity  won  all  our 
hearts  at  home.  No  wife  or  mother 
ever  was  more  attached  and  affec- 
tionate ;  but  I  own  there  was  a  time 
when  I  hated  her,  though  of  course 
that  highly  principled  woman,  the 
wife  of  the  author  of  the  present  me- 
moirs, says  that  the  statement  I  am 
making  here  is  stuiF  and  nonsense, 
not  to  say  immoral  and  irreligious. 
Well,  then,  I  hated  Charlotte  for  the 
horrible  eagerness  which  she  showed 
in  getting  away  from  this  Little 
Sister,  who  clung  round  those  chil- 
dren, whose  first  cries  she  had  heard. 
I  hated  Charlotte  for  a  cruel  happiness 
which  she  felt  as  she  hugged  the 
children  to  her  heart  :  her  own  chil- 
dren in  their  own  room,  whom  she 
would  dress,  and  watch,  and  wash, 
and  tend ;  and  for  whom  she  wanted 
no  aid.  No  aid,  entendez-vous  ?  O, 
it  was  a  shame,  a  shame !    In  the 


new  house,  in  the  pleasant  little  trim 
new  nursery  (fitted  up  by  whose  fond 
hands  we  will  not  say),  is  the  mother 
glaring  over  the  cot,  where  the  little, 
soft,  round  cheeks  are  pillowed  ;  and 
yonder  in  the  rooms  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  where  she  has  tended  them  for 
two  years,  the  Little  Sister  sits  lone- 
ly, as  the  moonlight  streams  in.  God 
help  thee,  little  suffering  faithful 
lieart !  Never  but  once  in  her  lite 
before  had  she  known  so  exquisite  a 
pain. 

Of  course,  we  had  an  entertainment 
in  the  new  house ;  and  Philip's 
friends,  old  and  new,  came  to  tlie 
house-warming.  The  family  coach 
of  the  Ringwoods  blocked  up  that 
astonished  little  street.  The  powder 
on  their  footmen's  heads  nearly 
brushed  the  ceiling,  as  the  monsters 
rose  when  the  guests  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  hall.  The  Little  Sister 
merely  took  charge  of  the  tea-room. 
Philip's  "  library "  was  that  usual 
little  cupboard  beyond  the  dining- 
room.  The  little  drawing-room  was 
dreadfully  crowded  by  an  ex-nursery 
piano,  which  the  Ringwoods  bestowed 
upon  their  friends  ;  and  somebody  was 
in  duty  bound  to  play  upon  it  on  the 
evening  of  this  soiree:  though  the 
Little  Sister  chafed  down  stairs  at  the 
music.  In  fact  her  very  words  were 
"  Rat  that  piano !  "  She  "  ratted  " 
the  instrument,  because  the  music 
would  wake  her  little  dears  up  stairs. 
And  that  music  did  wake  them  ;  and 
they  howled  melodiously,  and  the 
Little  Sister,  who  was  about  to  serve 
Lady  Jane  Tregarvan  with  some  tea, 
dashed  up  stairs  to  the  nursery  :  and 
Charlotte  had  reached  the  room 
already  :  and  she  looked  angry  when 
the  Little  Sister  came  in :  and  she 
said,  "  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Brandon,  the 
people  down  stairs  will  be  wanting 
their  tea  "  ;  and  she  spoke  with  some 
asperity.  And  Mrs.  Brandon  went 
down  stairs  without  one  word ;  and, 
happening  to  be  on  the  landing,  con 
versing  with  a  friend,  and  a  little  out 
of  the  way  of  the  duet  which  the 
Miss  Ringwoods  were  performing,  — 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


383 


riding  their  great  old  horse,  as  it 
were,  and  putting  it  through  its  paces 
in  Mrs.  Firmin's  little  paddock  ;  — 
happening,  I  say,  to  be  on  the  land- 
ing when  Caroline  passed,  1  took  a 
hand  as  cold  as  stone,  and  never  saw 
a  look  of  grief  more  tragic  than  that 
worn  by  her  poor  little  face  as  it 
passed.  "  My  children  cried,"  she 
said,  "  and  1  went  up  to  the  nursery. 
But  she  don't  want  me  there  now." 
Poor  Little  Sister !  She  humbled 
herself  and  grovelled  before  Char- 
lotte. You  could  not  help  trampling 
upon  her  then,  madam ;  and  I  hated 
you, — and  a  great  number  of  other 
women.  Hidley  and  I  went  down  to 
her  tea-room,  where  Caroline  resumed 
her  place.  She  looked  very  nice  and 
pretty,  with  her  pale  sweet  face,  and 
her  neat  cap  and  blue  ribbon.  Tor- 
tures I  know  she  was  suffering. 
Charlotte  had  been  stabbing  her. 
Women  will  use  the  edge  sometimes, 
and  drive  the  steel  in.  Charlotte 
said  to  me,  some  time  afterwards,  "  I 
was  jealous  of  her,  and  you  were 
right  ;  and  a  dearer,  more  faithful 
creature  never  lived."  But  who  told 
Charlotte  I  said  she  was  jealous  ?  0 
fool !  I  told  Ridley,  and  Mr.  Ridley 
told  Mrs.  Firmin. 

If  Charlotte  stabbed  Caroline,  Car- 
oline could  not  help  coming  back 
again  and  again  to  the  knife.  On 
Sundays,  when  she  was  free,  there 
was  always  a  place  for  her  at  Philip's 
modest  table ;  and  when  Mrs.  Philip 
went  to  church,  Caroline  was  allowed 
to  reign  in  the  nursery.  Sometimes 
Charlotte  was  generous  enough  to 
give  Mrs.  Brandon  this  chance. 
When  Philip  took  a  house,  —  a  whole 
house  to  himself, — Philip's  mother- 
in-law  proposed  to  come  and  stay  with 
him,  and  said  that,  wishing  to  be  be- 
holden to  no  one,  she  would  pay  for 
her  board  and  lodging.  But  Philip 
declined  this  treat,  representing,  just-, 
ly,  that  his  present  house  was  no  big- 
ger than  his  former  lodgings.  "  My 
poor  love  is  dying  to  have  me,"  Mrs. 
Baynes  remarked  on  .,his.  "  But  her 
husband  is  so  cruel  to  her,  and  keeps 


her  under  such  terror,  that  she  dares 
not  call  her  life  her  own."  Cruel  to 
her  !  Charlotte  was  the  happiest  of 
the  happy  in  her  little  house.  In 
consequence  of  his  parliamentary  suc- 
cess, Plulip  went  regularly  to  cham- 
bers now,  in  the  fond  hope  that  more 
briefs  might  come.  At  chambers  he 
likewise  conducted  the  chief  business 
of  his  Review  :  and,  at  the  accustomed 
hour  of  his  return,  that  usual  little 
procession  of  mother  and  child  and 
nurse  would  be  seen  on  the  watch  for 
him  ;  and  the  young  woman  —  the 
hapjiiest  young  woman  in  Christen- 
dom —  would  walk  back  clinging 
on  her  husband's  arm. 

All  this  while  letters  came  from 
Philip's  dear  father  at  New  York, 
where,  it  appeared,  he  was  engaged 
not  only  in  his  profession,  but  in  va- 
rious speculations,  with  which  he  was 
always  about  to  make  his  fortune. 
One  day  Philip  got  a  newspaper  ad- 
vertising a  new  insurance  company, 
and  saw,  to  his  astonishment,  the 
aimounccment  of  "  Counsel  in  Lon- 
don, Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  Parch- 
ment Buildings,  Tehiple."  A  pater- 
nal letter  promised  Philip  great  fees 
out  of  this  insurance  company,  but  I 
never  heard  that  poor  IMiilip  was  any 
the  richer.  In  fact  his  frientls  ad- 
vised him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this  insurance  company,  and  to  make 
no  allusion  to  it  in  his  letters.  "  They 
feared  the  Danai,  and  the  gifts  they 
brought,"  as  old  Firmin  would  have 
said.  They  had  to  impress  tijion 
Philip  an  abiding  mistrust  of  that 
wily  old  Greek,  his  father.  Firmin 
senior  always  wrote  hopefully  and 
magnificently,  and  persisted  in  be- 
lieving or  declaring  that  ere  very 
long  he  should  have  to  announce  to 
Philip  that  his  fortune  was  made. 
lie  speculated  in  Wall  Street,  I  don't 
know  in  what  shares,  inventions, 
mines,  railways.  One  day,  some 
few  months  after  his  migration  to 
Milman  Street,  Philip,  blushing  and 
hanging  down  his  head,  had  to  tell 
me  that  his  father  had  drawn  upon 
him  again.     Had  he  not  paid  up  his 


384 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


shares  in  a  certain  mine,  they  would 
have  been  forfeited,  and  he  and  his 
son  after  him  would  have  lost  a  cer- 
tain fortune,  old  Danaus  said.  I 
fear  an  artful,  a  long-bow-pulling 
Danaus.  Whut,  shall  a  man  have 
birth,  wealth,  friends,  high  position, 
and  end  so  that  we  dare  not  leave 
him  alone  in  the  room  with  our 
spoons  ?  "  And  you  have  paid  this 
bill  which  the  old  man  drew  ?  "  we 
asked.  Yes,  Philip  had  paid  the  bill. 
He  vowed  he  would  pay  no  more. 
But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  the 
Doctor  would  draw  more  bills  upon 
this  accommodating  banker.  "  I 
dread  the  letters  which  begin  with  a 
flourish  about  the  fortune  which  he 
is  just  going  to  make,"  Philip  said. 
He  knew  that  the  old  parent  pref- 
aced his  demands  for  money  in  that 
way. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  a  great 
medical  discovery  which  he  had  an- 
nounced to  his  correspondent,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  and  by  which  the  Doctor 
declared  as  usual  that  he  was  about 
to  make  a  fortune.  In  New  York  and 
Boston  he  had  tried  experiments 
which  had  been  attended  with  the 
most  astonishing  success.  A  remedy 
was  discovered,  the  mere  sale  of  which 
in  Europe  and  America  must  bring 
an  immense  revenue  to  the  fortunate 
inventors.  For  the  ladies  whom  Mrs. 
Brandon  attended,  the  remedy  was  of 
priceless  value.  He  would  send  her 
some.  His  friend.  Captain  Morgan, 
of  the  Southampton  packet-ship,  would 
bring  her  some  of  this  astonishing 
medicine.  Let  her  try  it.  Let  her 
show  the  accompanying  cases  to  Doc- 
tor Goodenough,  —  to  any  of  his 
broth-r  physicians  in  London. 
Though  himself  an  exile  from  his 
country,  he  loved  it,  and  was  proud 
in  being  able  to  confer  upon  it  one  of 
the  greatest  blessings  with  which  sci- 
ence had  endowed  mankind. 

Goodenough,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  had 
such  a  mistrust  of  his  confrere  that  he 
chose  to  disbelieve  any  statement 
Firmin  made.  "  I  don't  believe,  my 
good   Brandon,   the   fellow  has  tious 


enough  to  light  upon  any  scientific 
discovery  more  useful  than  a  new 
sauce  for  cutlets.  He  invent  any- 
thing but  fibs,  never  ! "  You  see  this 
Goodenough  is  an  obstinate  old  hea- 
then ;  and  when  he  has  once  found  rea- 
son to  mistrust  a  man,  he  forever  after 
declines  to  believe  him. 

However,  the  Doctor  is  a  man  forev- 
er on  the  lookout  for  more  knowledge 
of  his  profession,  and  for  more  reme- 
diis  to  benefit  mankind;  he  hummed 
and  ha'd  over  the  pamphlet,  as  the 
Little  Sister  sat  watching  him  in  his 
study.  He  clapped  it  down  after  a 
while,  and  slapped  his  hands  on  his 
little  legs  as  his  wont  is.  "  Brandon," 
he  says,  "  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal 
in  it,  and  I  think  so  the  more  because 
it  turns  out  that  Firmin  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  discovery,  which  has 
been  made  at  Boston."  In  fact,  Dr. 
Firmin,  late  of  London,  had  only  been 
present  in  the  Boston  hospital,  where 
the  experiments  were  made  with  the 
new  remedy.  He  had  cried  "  Halves," 
and  proposed  to  sell  it  as  a  secret  rem- 
edy, and  the  bottle  which  he  forward- 
ed to  our  friend  the  Little  Sister  was 
labelled  "  Firrain's  Anodyne."  What 
Firmin  did,  indeed,  was  what  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  had 
taken  another  man's  property,  and 
was  endeavoring  to  make  a  flourish 
with  it.  The  Little  Sister  returned 
home,  then,  with  her  bottle  of  Chloro- 
form, —  for  this  was  what  Dr.  Firmin 
chose  to  call  his  discovery,  and  he  had 
sent  home  a  specimen  of  it;  as  he 
sent  home  a  cask  of  petroleum  from 
Virginia;  as  he  sent  proposals  for 
new  railways  upon  which  he  promised 
Philip  a  munificent  commission,  if  iiis 
son  could  but  place  the  shares  amongst 
his  friends. 

And  with  resard  to  these  valuables, 
the  sanguine  doctor  got  to  believe  that 
he  really  was  endowing  his  son  with 
large  sums  of  money.  "  My  boy  has 
set  up  a  house,  and  has  a  wife  and 
two  children,  the  young  jackanapes  !  " 
he  would  say  to  people  in  New  York ; 
"  as  if  he  had  not  been  extravagant 
enough  in    former  days !     When  I 


THE   ADVENTUUKS   OF   PHILIP. 


385 


married,  I  had  private  means,  and 
married  a  nobleman's  niece  with  a 
large  fortune.  Neither  of  these  two 
youn}^  folios  has  a  penny.  Well,  well, 
the  old  father  must  help  them  as  well 
as  he  can  ! "  And  I  am  told  there 
were  ladies  who  dropped  the  tear 
of  sensibility  and  said,  "  What  a 
fond  father  this  doctor  is  !  How  he 
sacrifices  himself  for  that  scapegrace 
of  a  son  !  Think  of  the  dear  doctor 
at  his  a<;e,  toiling  cheerfully  for  that 
young  man,  who  helped  to  ruin  him  ! " 
And  Firmin  sighed  ;  and  passed  a 
beautiful  white  handkerchief  over  liis 
eyes  with  a  beautiful  white  hand  ; 
and,  I  believe,  really  cried ;  and 
thought  himself  quite  a  good,  affec- 
tionate, injured  man.  He  held  the 
plate  at  church  ;  he  looked  very  hand- 
some and  tall,  and  bowed  with  a 
charming  melancholy  grace  to  the  la- 
dies as  they  put  in  their  contributions. 
The  dear  man  !  His  plate  was  fuller 
than  other  people's,  —  so  a  traveller 
told  us  who  saw  him  in  New  York  ; 
and  described  a  very  choice  dinner 
which  the  Doctor  gave  to  afew  friends, 
at  one  of  the  smartest  hotels  just  then 
opened. 

With  all  the  Little  Sister's  good 
management  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip 
were  only  able  to  install  themselves  in 
their  new  house  at  a  considerable  ex- 
pense, and  beyond  that  great  Ring- 
wood  piano  which  swaggered  in 
Philip's  little  drawing-room,  I  am  con- 
strained to  say  that  there  was  scarce 
any  furniture  at  all.  One  of  the  rail- 
way accounts  was  not  paid  as  yet,  and 
poor  Philip  could  not  feed  upon  mere 
paper  promises  to  pay.  Nor  was  he 
inclined  to  accept  the  offers  of  private 
friends,  who  were  willing  enough  to 
be  his  bankers.  "  One  in  a  family  is 
enough  for  that  kind  of  business,"  he 
said,  gloomily  ;  and  it  came  out  that 
again  and  again  the  interesting  exile 
at  New  York  who  was  deploring  his 
son's  extravagance  and  foolish  mar- 
riage had  drawn  bills  upon  Philip 
which  our  friend  accepted  and  paid,  — 
bills,  who  knows  to  what  amount? 
He  has  never  told  ;  and  the  engaging 
17 


parent  who  robbed  him  —  nust  I  use 
a  word  so  un])olite  ?  —  wi'.I  n^vrr  now 
td\  to  what  extent  lu'  hcl]ic;i  himself 
to  Philip's  small  means.  This  I  know, 
that  when  autumn  came  —  when  Sep- 
tember was  ](ast  —  we  in  our  coscy 
little  retreat  at  the  seaside  received  a 
letter  from  the  Little  Sister,  in  her 
dear  little  bad  spelling  (about  which 
there  used  to  be  somehow  a  pathos 
which  the  very  finest  writing  does  not 
])Ossess)  ;  there  came,  1  say,  a  letter 
from  the  Little  Sister  in  which  she 
told  us,  with  many  dashes,  that  dear 
Mrs.  I'hilip  and  the  children  were 
])ining  and  sick  in  London,  and  "  that 
Phili]!,  he  had  too  nnicli  pride  and 
S]icrit  to  take  money  from  any  one  ; 
that  Mr.  Trcgarvan  was  away  tiavclr 
ling  oji  the  Continent,  and  tiiat  wretch 
—  that  monster,  i/oii  ki.ou-  vlio  —  have 
drawn  ujioii  Philip  again  for  money, 
and  again  he  have  ]iaid,  and  the  dear, 
dear  children  can't  have  fresh  air." 

"  Did  she  tell  you,"  said  Philip, 
brushing  his  hands  across  his  eyes 
whin  a  friend  cmie  lo  remonstrate 
with  him,  "did  siie  tell  you  that  she 
lu'iinglit  UK'  money  herself,  hut  we 
would  not  use  it  '.  Look  !  1  have 
her  little  marriage  gilt  yonder  in  my 
desk,  and  ])ray  (iod  I  shall  be  aijle  to 
leave  it  to  my  cliildren.  The  fact  is, 
the  Doctor  has  drawn  ufion  me  as 
usual  ;  he  is  goiuL'  to  make  a  fortune 
next  week.  I  have  paid  another  hill 
of  his.  The  ])arlianienfary  agents 
are  out  of  town,  at  their  moors  in 
Scotland,  I  suppose.  The  air  of  Pus- 
sell  Square  is  uncommonly  whole- 
some, and  when  the  hahies  have  iiad 
enough  of  that,  why,  they  must 
change  it  for  Brunswick  Square. 
Talk  about  the  country  !  what  coun- 
try can  be  more  quiet  than  Guildford 
Street  in  September?  I  stretcii  out 
of  a  morning,  and  breathe  the  moun- 
tain air  on  Ludgate  Hill."  And  with 
these  dismal  pleasantries  and  jokes 
our  friend  chose  to  jint  a  good  face 
upon  bad  fortune.  The  kinsmen  of 
Ringwood  offered  hos])itality  kindly 
enough,  but  how  was  poor  Philip  to 
pay   railway  expenses    for  servants. 


386 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


babies,  and  wife  ?  In  this  strait  Tre- 
garvan  from  abroad,  having  found  out 

some  monstrous  designs  of  Russ , 

of  the  great  Power  of  wliich  he  stood 
in  daily  terror,  and  which,  as  we  are 
in  strict  amity  with  that  Power,  no 
other  Power  shall  induce  me  to  name, 
—  Tregarvan  wrote  to  his  editor,  and 
communicated  to  him  in  confidence  a 
most  prodigious  and  nefarious  plot 
against  the  liberties  of  all  the  rest  of 
Europe,  in  which  the  Power  in  ques- 
tion was  engaged,  and  in  a  postscript 
added,  "  By  the  way,  the  Michaelmas 
quarter  is  due,  and  I  send  you  a 
check,"  &C.,  &c.  O  precious  post- 
script. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  it  would  be 
so  ?  "  said  my  wife,  with  a  self-satis- 
fied air.  "  Was  I  not  certain  that 
succor  would  come  ?  " 

And  succor  did  come,  sure  enough  ; 
and  a  very  happy  little  party  went 
down  to  Brighton  in  a  second-class 
carriage,  and  got  an  extraordinarily 
clieap  lodging,  and  the  roses  came 
back  to  the  little  pale  cheeks,  and 
mamma  was  wonderfully  invigorated 
and  refreshed,  as  all  her  friends  could 
have  seen  when  the  little  family  came 
back  to  town,  only  there  was  such  a 
thick  dun  fog  that  it  was  impossible 
to  see  complexions  at  all. 

When  the  shooting-season  was  come 
to  an  end,  the  parliamentary  agents 
who  had  employed  Philip  came  back 
to  London  ;  and,  I  am  happy  to  say, 
gave  him  a  check  for  his  little  ac- 
count. My  wife  cried,  "  Did  I  not 
tell  you  so?"  more  than  ever.  "Is 
not  everything  for  the  best  ?  I  knew 
dear  Philip  would  prosper  !  " 

Everything  was  for  the  best,  was 
it  ?  Philip  was  sure  to  prosper,  was 
he  1  What  do  you  think  of  the  next 
news  which  the  poor  fellow  brought 
to  us  1  One  night  in  December  he 
came  to  us,  and  I  saw  by  his  face 
that  some  event  of  importance  had 
befallen  him. 

"  I  am  almost  heart-broken,"  he 
said,  thumping  on  the  table  when  the 
young  ones  had  retreated  from  it.  "  I 
don't  know  what  to. do.     I  have  not 


told  you  all.  I  have  paid  four  bills 
for  him  already,  and  now  he  has  — • 
he  has  signed  my  name."  "1 

"  Who  has  ?  "  I 

"  He  at  New  York.  You  know," 
said  poor  Philip.  "  I  tell  you  he  has 
put  my  name  on  a  bill,  and  without 
my  authority." 

"  Gracious   Heavens !    You    mean 

your  fatlier  has  for "  I  could  not 

say  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Philip.  "  Here  is 
a  letter  from  him  " ;  and  he  handed 
a  letter  across  the  table  in  the  Doctor's 
well-known  handwriting. 

"  Dearest  Philip,"  the  father 
wrote,  "  a  sad  misfortune  has  befallen 
me,  which  I  had  hoped  to  conceal,  or 
at  any  rate,  to  avert  from  my  dear 
son.  For  you,  Philip,  are  a  partici- 
pator in  that  misfortune  through  the 
imprudence  —  must  I  say  it? — of 
your  father.  Would  I  had  struck  off 
the  hand  which  has  done  the  deed,  ere 
it  had  been  done  !  But  the  fault  has 
taken  wings  and  flown  out  of  my 
reach.  Immeritus,  dear  boy,  you  have 
to  suffer  for  the  delicta  majorum.  Ah, 
that  a  father  sh<nild  have  to  own  his 
fault;  to  kneel  and  ask  pardon  of  his 
son  ! 

"  I  am  engaged  in  many  specula- 
tions. Some  have  succeeded  beyond 
my  wildest  hopes  :  some  have  taken 
in  the  most  rational,  the  most  pru- 
dent, the  least  sanguine  of  our  cap- 
italists in  Wall  Street,  and  promising 
the  greatest  results  have  ended  in  the 
most  extreme  failure !  To  meet  a 
call  in  an  undertaking  which  seemed 
to  offer  the  most  certain  prospects 
of  success,  which  seemed  to  promise 
a  fortune  for  me  and  my  boy,  and 
your  dear  children,  I  put  in  amongst 
other  securities  which  1  had  to  realize 
on  a  sudden,  a  bill,  on  which  I  used 
your  name.  I  dated  it  as  drawn  six 
mouths  back  by  me  at  New  York,  on 
you  at  Parchment  Buildings,  Tem- 
ple ;  and  I  wrote  your  acceptance,  as 
though  the  signature  were  yours.  1 
give  myself  up  to  you.  I  tell  you 
what  I  have  done.    Make  the  matter 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


387 


public.  Give  my  confession  to  the 
world,  as  here  I  write,  and  sign  it, 
and  your  father  is  branded  forever  to 
the  world  as  a  —  Spare  me  the  word  ! 

"As  I  live,  as  I  hope  for  your  for- 
giveness, long  ere  that  bill  became 
due,  —  it  is  at  five  months'  date,  for 
£  386  4  s.  3  rf.  value  received,  and  dated 
from  the  Temple,  on  the  4th  of  July, 
— I  passed  it  to  one  who  promised  to 
keep  it  until  I  myself  should  redeem 
it !  The  commission  which  he  charged 
me  was  enormous,  rascally ;  and  not 
content  with  the  immense  interest 
which  he  extorted  from  me,  the 
scoundrel  has  passed  the  bill  away, 
and  it  is  in  Europe,  in  the  hands  of 
an  enemy. 

"  You  remember  Tufton  Hunt  ? 
Yes.  You  most  justly  chastised  him. 
The  wretch  lately  made  his  detested 
appearance  in  this  city,  associated 
with  the  lowest  of  the  base,  and  endeav- 
ored to  resume  his  old  practice  of 
threats,  cajoleries,  and  extortions  !  In 
a  fatal  hour  the  villain  heard  of  the 
bill  of  which  I  have  warned  you.  He 
purchased  it  from  the  gambler  to 
whom  it  had  been  passed.  As  New 
York  was  speedily  too  hot  to  hold 
him  (for  the  unhappy  man  has  even  leji 
me  to  pay  his  hotel  score)  he  has  fled,  — 
and  fled  to  Europe,  —  taking  with  him 
that  fatal  bill,  which  he  says  he  knows 
you  will  pay.  Ah !  dear  Philip,  if 
that  bill  were  but  once  out  of  the 
wretch's  hands !  What  sleepless 
hours  of  agony  should  I  be  spared  ! 
I  pray  you,  I  implore  you,  make  every 
sncnfice  to  meet  it!  You  will  not 
disown  it  ?  No.  As  you  have  chil- 
dren of  your  own,  —  as  you  love  them, 
—  you  would  not  willingly  let  them 
leave  a  dishonored 

"  Father. 

"  I  have  a  share  in  a  great  medical 
discovery,*  regarding  which  I  have 
written  to  our  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon, 
and  which  is  sure  to  realize  an  im- 

*  ^ther  was  first  employed,  I  believe,  in 
America  ;  and  I  hope  the  reader  will  excuse 
the  substitution  of  Chloroform  in  this  in- 
itaiwe.  —  W.  M.  T. 


mcnse  profit,  as  introduced  into 
England  by  a  physician  so  well  known 
—  may  I  not  say  proiessionally  ?  re- 
spfctfd  as  myself.  The  very  first  profits 
resulting  from  that  discovery  1  prom- 
ise, on  my  honor,  to  devote  to  you. 
They  will  very  soon  fur  more  than 
repay  the  loss  which  my  imprudence 
has  l)rought  on  my  dear  boy.  Eare- 
wcll !  Love  to  your  wife  and  little 
ones.  —  G.  B.  E." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

NEC    PLENA    CRl'OHIS    IIIKUDO. 

The  reading  of  this  precious  letter 
filled  Pliilip's  friend  with  an  inward 
indignation  which  it  was  very  hard 
to  control  or  disguise.  It  is  no  pleas- 
ant task  to  tell  a  gentleman  that  his 
father  is  a  rogue.  Old  Eirmin  would 
have  been  hanged  a  few  years  earlier, 
for  practices  like  these.  As  you  talk 
witli  a  very  great  scoundrel,  or  with 
a  madman,  has  not  the  respected 
reader  sometimes  reflected,  with  a 
grim  self-humiliation,  how  the  fellow 
is  of  our  own  kind  ;-  and  homo  est  1 
Let  us,  dearly  dcloved,  who  are  out- 
side, —  1  mean  outside  the  hulks  or 
the  asylum,  —  be  thankful  that  we 
have  to  pay  a  barber  for  snipping  our 
hair,  and  are  intrusted  with  the 
choice  of  the  cut  of  our  own  jerkins. 
As  poor  Philip  read  his  father's  letter, 
my  thought  was  :  "  And  I  can  re- 
member the  soft  white  hand  of  iliat 
scoundrel,  which  has  just  been  forging 
his  own  son's  name,  putting  sover- 
eigns into  my  own  jialm,  when  I  «  as 
a  school-boy."  I  always  liked  that 
man  :  —  but  the  story  is  notc/e  me,  — 
it  regards  Philip. 

"  You  won't  pay  this  bill  ?  "  Phil 
ip's  friend  indignantly  said,  then. 

"  What  can  I  do  ? "  says  ])oor 
Phil,  shaking  a  sad  head. 

"  You  are  not  worth  five  hundred 
pounds  in  the  world,"  remarks  the 
friend. 

"  Who   ever  said   I  was  ?    I    am 


388 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


worth  this  bill :  or  my  credit  is," 
answers  the  victim. 

"  If  you  pay  this,  he  will  draw 
more." 

"  I  dare  say  he  will " :  that  Firmin 
admits. 

"  And  he  will  continue  to  draw  as 
long  as  there  is  a  drop  of  blood  to  be 
had  out  of  you." 

"  Yes,"  owns  poor  Philip,  putting 
a  finger  to  his  lip.  He  thought  I 
might  be  about  to  speak.  His  artless 
wife  and  mine  were  conversing  at 
that  moment  upon  the  respective 
merits  of  some  sweet  chintzes  which 
they  had  seen  at  Shoolbred's,  in  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road,  and  which  were 
so  cheap  and  pleasant,  and  lively  to 
look  at !  Really  those  drawing-room 
curtains  would  cost  scarcely  any- 
thing !  Our  Regulus,  you  see,  before 
stepping  into  his  torture-tub,  was 
smiling  on  his  friends,  and  talking 
upholstery  with  a  cheerful,  smirking 
countenance.  On  chintz,  or  some 
other  household  errand,  the  ladies 
went  prattling  off :  but  there  was  no 
care,  save  for  husband  and  children, 
in  Charlotte's  poor  little  innocent 
heart  just  then. 

"Nice  to  hear  her  talking  about 
sweet  drawing-room  chintzes,  is  n't 
it  1 "  says  Philip.  "  Shall  we  try 
Shoolbred's  or  the  other  shop  ? " 
And  then  he  laughs.  It  was  not  a 
very  lively  laugh. 

"  You  mean  that  j'ou  are  deter- 
mined, then,  on  —  " 

"  On  acknowledging  my  signature  ? 
Of  course,"  says  Philip,  "  if  ever  it  is 
presented  to  me,  I  would  own  it." 
And  having  formed  and  announced 
this  resolution,  I  knew  my  stubborn 
friend  too  well  to  think  that  he  ever 
Would  shirk  it. 

The  most  exasperating  part  of  the 
matter  was,  that  however  generously 
Philip's  friends  might  be  disposed 
towards  him,  they  could  not  in  this 
case  give  him  a  helping  hand.  The 
Doctor  would  draw  more  bills  and 
more.  As  sure  as  Philip  supplied, 
the  parent  would  ask ;  and  that  de- 
vouring   dragon    of   a    doctor    had 


stomach  enough  for  the  blood  of  all 
of  us,  were  we  inclined  to  give  it. 
In  fact,  Philip  saw  as  much,  and 
owned  everything  with  his  usual  can- 
dor. "  I  see  what  is  going  on  in  your 
mind,  old  boy,"  the  poor  fellow  said, 
"  as  well  as  if  you  spoke.  You  mean 
that  I  am  helpless  and  irreclaimable, 
and  doomed  to  hopeless  ruin.  So  it 
would  seem.  A  man  can't  escape 
his  fate,  friend,  and  my  father  has 
made  mine  for  me.  If  I  manage  to 
struggle  through  the  payment  of  this 
bill,  of  course  he  will  draw  another. 
My  only  chance  of  escape  is,  that  he 
should  succeed  in  some  of  his  specula- 
tions. As  he  is  always  gambling,  there 
may  be  some  luck  for  him  one  day  or 
another.  He  won't  benefit  me,  then. 
That  is  not  his  way.  If  he  makes  a 
coup  he  will  keep  the  money,  or  spend 
it.  He  won't  give  me  any.  But  he 
will  not  draw  upon  me  as  he  does 
now,  or  send  forth  fancy  imitations  of 
the  filial  autograph.  It  is  a  blessing 
to  have  such  a  father,  isn't  it?  I 
say,  Pen,  as  I  think  from  whom  I  am 
descended,  and  look  at  your  spoons, 
I  am  astonished  I  have  not  put  any 
of  them  in  my  pocket.  You  leave 
me  in  the  room  with  'em  quite  un- 
protected. I  say,  it  is  quite  affecting 
the  way  in  which  you  and  your  dear 
wife  have  confidence  in  me."  And 
with  a  bitter  execration  at  his  fate, 
the  poor  fellow  pauses  for  a  moment 
in  his  lament. 

His  father  was  his  fate,  he  seemed 
to  think,  and  there  were  no  means  of 
averting  it.  "  You  remember  that 
picture  of  Abraham  and  Isaac  in  the 
Doctor's  study  in  Old  Parr  Street  ?  " 
he  would  say.  "  My  patriarch  has 
tied  me  up,  and  had  the  knife  in  me 
repeatedly.  He  does  not  sacrifice  me 
at  one  operation  ;  but  there  will  be  a 
final  one  some  day,  and  I  shall  bleed 
no  more.  It's  gay  and  amusing, 
is  n't  ?  Especinlly  when  one  has  a 
wife  and  children."  I,  for  my  part, 
felt  so  indignant,  that  I  was  minded 
to  advertise  in  the  papers  that  all 
acceptances  drawn  in  Philip's  name 
were  forgeries  ;  and  let  his  father  tak« 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


389 


the  consequences  of  his  own  act. 
But  the  consequences  would  have 
been  life  inipri:>onnient  for  tlie  old 
man,  and  almost  as  much  disgrace 
and  ruin  for  the  young  one  as  were 
actually  impending.  He  pointed  out 
this  clearly  enough ;  nor  could  we 
altogether  gainsay  his  dismal  logic. 
It  was  better,  at  any  rate,  to  meet  his 
bill,  and  give  the  Doctor  warning  for 
the  future.  Well :  perhaps  it  was ; 
only  suppose  the  Doctor  should  take 
the  warning  in  good  part,  accept  the 
rebuke  with  perfect  meekness,  and  at 
an  early  opportunity  commit  anoth- 
er forgery  ?  To  this  Philip  replied, 
that  no  man  could  resist  his  fate  : 
that  he  had  always  expected  his  own 
doom  through  his  father  :  that  when 
the  elder  went  to  America  he  thought 
possibly  the  charm  was  broken  ;  "  But 
you  see  it  is  not,"  groaned  Philip, 
"and  my  father's  emissaries  reach 
me,  and  I  am  still  under  the  spell." 
The  bearer  of  the  bowstring,  we  know, 
was  on  his  way,  and  would  deliver 
his  grim  message  erelong. 

Having  frequently  succeeded  in  ex- 
torting money  from  Dr.  Firmin,  Mr. 
Tufton  Hunt  thought  he  could  not 
do  better  than  follow  his  banker 
across  the  Atlantic ;  and  we  need  not 
describe  the  annoyance  and  rage  of 
the  Doctor  on  finding  this  black  care 
still  behind  his  back.  He  had  not 
much  to  give ;  indeed  the  sum  which 
he  took  away  with  him,  and  of  which 
he  robbed  his  son  and  his  other  cred- 
itors, was  but  small :  but  Hunt  was 
bent  upon  having  a  portion  of  this  ; 
and,  of  course,  hinted  that  if  the 
Doctor  refused,  he  would  carry  to  the 
New  York  press  the  particulars  of 
Firmin's  early  career  and  latest  de- 
falcations. Mr.  Hunt  had  been  under 
the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons half  a  dozen  times,  and  knew 
our  public  men  by  sight.  In  the  i 
course  of  a  pretty  long  and  disrepu-  [ 
table  career  he  had  learned  anecdotes  j 
regarding  members  of  the  aristocracy, 
turfmen,  and  the  like  ;  and  he  offered  j 
to  sell  this  precious  knowledge  of  his  | 
to  more  than  one  American  paper,  aa  \ 


other  amiable  exiles  from  our  country 
have  done.  But  Hunt  was  too  old, 
and  his  stories  too  stale  for  the  Kew 
i  York  public.  Thev  dated  from 
George  IV.,  and  the  boxing  and 
coaching  times.  He  found  but  little 
market  for  his  wares  ;  and  the  tipsy 
par.-on  reeled  from  tavern  to  bar, 
only  the  object  of  scorn  to  vounger 
reprobates  who  despised  his  old- 
fashioned  stories,  and  tould  top  them 
with  blackguardism  of  a  much  more 
modem  date. 

After  some  two  years'  sojourn  in 
the  United  States,  this  worthy  felt 
the  passionate  longing  to  revisit  his 
native  country  which  generous  hearts 
often  experience,  and  made  his  way 
from  Liverpool  to  London  ;  and  when 
in  London  directed  his  steps  to  the 
house  of  the  Little  Sister,  of  which 
he  expected  to  find  Philip  still  an  in- 
mate. Although  Hunt  had  been 
once  kicked  out  of  the  premises,  he 
felt  little  shame  now  about  re-enter- 
ing them.  He  had  that  in  his  pocket 
which  would  insure  him  respectful 
behavior  from  Philip.  What  were  the 
circumstances  under  which  that  forged 
bill  was  obtained  ?  Was  it  a  specula- 
tion between  Hunt  and  Philip's  father? 
Did  Hunt  suggest  that,  to  screen  the 
elder  Firmin  from  disgrace  and  ruin, 
Philip  would  assuredly  take  the  biU 
up?  That  a  forged  signature  was, 
in  fact,  a  better  document  than  a 
genuine  acceptance  ?  We  shall  never 
know  the  truth  regarding  this  trans- 
action now.  We  have  but  the  state- 
ments of  the  two  parties  concerned  ; 
and  as  both  of  them,  I  grieve  to  say, 
are  entirely  unworthy  of  credit,  we 
must  remain  in  ignorance  regarding 
this  matter.  Perhaps  Hunt  forged 
Philip's  acceptance :  perhaps  his  un- 
happy father  wrote  it :  perhaps  the 
Doctor's  story  that  the  paper  was  ex- 
torted from  him  was  true,  perhaps 
false.  What  matters  ?  Both  the 
men  have  passed  away  from  amongst 
us,  and  will  write  and  speak  no  more 
lies. 

Caroline   was   absent   from    home 
when  Hunt  paid  his  first  visit  after 


390 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


his  return  from  America.  Her  ser- 
vant described  the  man,  and  his  ap- 
pearance. Mrs.  Brandon  felt  sure 
that  Hunt  was  her  visitor,  and  fore- 
boded no  good  to  Philip  from  the 
parson's  arrival.  In  former  days  we 
have  seen  how  the  Little  Sister  had 
found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  this  man. 
The  besotted  creature,  shunned  of 
men,  stained  with  crime,  drink,  debt, 
had  still  no  little  vanity  in  his  com- 
position, and  gave  himself  airs  in  the 
tavern  parlors  which  he  frequented. 
Because  he  had  been  at  the  University 
thirty  years  ago,  his  idea  was  that  he 
was  superior  to  ordinary  men  who  had 
not  had  the  benefit  of  an  education 
at  Oxford  or  Cambridge ;  and  that 
the  "  snobs,"  as  he  called  them,  re- 
spected him.  He  would  assume 
grandiose  airs  in  talking  to  a  trades- 
man ever  so  wealthy ;  speak  to  such 
a  man  by  his  surname  ;  and  deemed 
that  he  honored  him  by  his  patronage 
and  conversation.  The  Little  Sis- 
ter's grammar,  I  have  told  you,  was 
not  good ;  her  poor  little  h's  were  sad- 
ly irregular.  A  letter  was  a  painful 
task  to  her.  She  knew  how  ill  she 
performed  it,  and  that  she  was  for- 
ever making  blunders. 

She  would  invent  a  thousand  funny 
little  pleas  and  excuses  for  her  faults 
of  writing.  With  all  the  blunders  of 
spelling,  her  little  letters  had  a  pa- 
thos which  somehow  brought  tears 
into  the  eyes.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  this  woman's  su- 
perior. He  thought  his  university 
education  gave  him  a  claim  upon  her 
respect,  and  draped  himself  and  swag- 
gered before  her  and  others  in  his 
dingy  college  gown.  He  had  paraded 
his  Master  of  Arts  degree  in  many 
thousand  tavern  parlors,  where  his 
Greek  and  learning  had  got  him  a 
kind  of  respect.  He  patronized  land- 
lords, and  strutted  by  hostesses' 
bars  with  a  vinous  leer  or  a  tipsy 
solemnity.  He  must  have  been  very 
far  gone  and  debased  indeed  when  he 
could  still  think  that  he  was  any  liv- 
ing man's  better  :  —  he,  who  ought 
to  have  waited  on   the  waiters,  and 


blacked  Boots's  own  shoes.  When 
he  had  reached  a  certain  stage  of 
liquor  he  commonly  began  to  brag 
about  the  University,  and  recite  the 
titles  of  his  friends  of  early  days. 
Never  was  kicking  more  righteously 
administered  than  that  which  Philip 
once  bestowed  on  this  miscreant. 
The  fellow  took  to  the  gutter  as 
naturally  as  to  his  bed,  Firmia 
used  to  say ;  and  vowed  that  the 
washing  there  was  a  novelty  which 
did  him  good. 

Brandon  soon  found  that  her  sur- 
mises were  correct  regarding  her 
nameless  visitor.  Next  day,  as  she 
was  watering  some  little  flowers  in 
her  window,  she  looked  from  it  into 
the  street,  where  she  saw  the  sham- 
bling parson  leering  up  at  her.  When 
she  saw  him  he  took  off  his  greasy 
li:U  and  m-ide  her  a  bow.  At  the 
moment  she  saw  him,  she  felt  that  he 
was  come  upon  some  errand  hostile 
to  Philip.  She  knew  he  meant  mis- 
chief as  he  looked  up  with  that  sod- 
den face,  those  bloodshot  eyes,  those 
unshorn,  grinning  lips. 

She  might  have  been  inclined  to 
faint,  or  disposed  to  scream,  or  to 
hide  herself  from  the  man,  the  sight 
of  whom  she  loathed.  She  did  not 
faint,  or  hide  herself,  or  cry  out :  but 
she  instantly  nodded  her  head  and 
smiled  in  the  most  engaging  manner 
on  that  unwelcome,  dingy  stranger. 
She  went  to  her  door  ;  she  opened  it 
(though  her  heart  beat  so  that  you 
might  have  heard  it,  as  she  told  her 
friend  afterwards).  She  stood  there 
i  a  moment  archly  smiling  at  him,  and 
she  beckoned  him  into  her  house  with 
a  little  gesture  of  welcome.  "  Law 
J  bless  us"  (these,  I  have  reason  to  be- 
I  lieve,  were  her  very  words)  —  "  Law 
I  bless  us,  Mr.  Hunt,  where  ever  have 
3'ou  been  this  ever  so  long  ?  "  And 
a  smiling  face  looked  at  him  resolute- 
ly from  under  a  neat  cap  and  fresh 
ribbon.  Why,  I  know  some  women 
can  smile,  and  look  at  ease,  when 
they  sit  down  in  a  dentist's  chair. 

"  Law  bless  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  then 
says  the  artless  creature,  "  who  ever 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


391 


would  have  thought  of  seeing  you,  I 
do  declai-e !  "  And  she  makes  a  nice 
-  cheery  little  courtesy,  and  looks  quite 
gay,  pleased,  and  pretty  ;  and  so  did 
Judith  look  gay,  no  doubt,  and  smile, 
and  prattle  before  Holotenies  ;  and 
then  of  course  she  said,  "  Won't  you 
step  in  1 "  And  then  Hunt  swaggered 
up  the  steps  of  the  house,  and  entered 
the  little  parlor,  into  which  the  kintl 
reader  has  often  been  conducted,  with 
its  neat  little  ornaments,  its  pictures, 
its  glistening  corner  cupboard,  anil 
its  well-scrubbed,  shitung  furniture. 

"  How  is  the  captain  ? "  asks  the  man 
(alone  in  the  company  of  this  Little 
Sister,  the  fellow's  own  heart  began  to 
beat,  andhis  bloodshot  eyes  toglisten). 
He  had  not  heard  about  poor  Pa  ? 
"  That  shows  how  long  you  have  been 
away  !  "  Mrs.  Brandon  remarks,  and 
mentions  the  date  of  her  father's  fatal 
illness.  Yes :  she  was  alone  now, 
and  had  to  care  for  herself;  and 
straightway,  I  have  no  doubt,  Mrs. 
Brandon  asked  Mr.  Hunt  whether  he 
would  "  take  "  anything.  Indeed, 
that  good  little  woman  was  forever 
pressing  her  friends  to  "  take  "  some- 
thing, and  would  have  thought  the 
laws  of  hospitality  violated  unless  she 
had  made  this  offer. 

Hunt  was  never  known  to  refuse  a 
proposal  of  this  sort.  He  would  take 
a  taste  of  something  —  of  something 
warm.  He  had  had  fever  and  ague 
at  New  York,  and  the  malady  hung 
about  him.  Mrs.  Brandon  was 
straight wa}'  very  much  interested  to 
hear  about  Mr.  Hunt's  complaint, 
and  knew  that  a  comfortable  glass 
was  very  efficacious  in  removing 
threatening  fever.  Her  nimble,  neat 
little  hands  mixed  him  a  cup.  He 
could  not  but  see  what  a  trim  little 
housekeeper  she  was.  "Ah,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  if  I  had  had  such  a  kind 
friend  watching  over  me,  I  should  not 
be  such  a  wreck  as  I  am  !  "  he  sighed. 
He  must  have  advanced  to  a  second, 
nay,  a  third  glass,  when  he  sighed 
and  became  sentimental  regarding 
his  own  unhappy  condition ;  and 
Brandon  owned  to  her  Mends  after- 


wards  that  she  made  those  glasses 
very  strong. 

Having  "  taken  something,"  in 
considerable  quantities,  then.  Hunt 
condescendod  to  ask  how  his  hostess 
wa,s  getting  on,  and  how  were  her 
lodgers  ?  How  she  was  getting  on  ? 
Brandon  drew  the  most  cheerful  pic- 
ture of  herself  and  her  circumstances. 
The  apartments  let  well,  and  were 
never  empty.  Thanks  to  good  Dr. 
Goodenough  and  other  friends,  she 
had  as  much  professional  occupation 
as  she  could  desire.  Since  you  know 
who  has  left  the  country,  she  said,  her 
mind  had  been  ever  so  much  easier. 
As  long  as  he  was  near,  she  never 
felt  secure.  But  he  was  gone,  and 
bad  luck  go  with  him  !  said  this  vin- 
dictive Little  Sister. 

"  Was  hi>  son  still  lodging  up 
stairs  ■?  "  asked  Mr.  Plunt. 

On  this,  what  does  Mrs.  Brandon 
do  but  begin  a  most  angry  attack 
upon  Philip  and  his  family.  He 
lodge  there  ?  No,  thank  goodness  ! 
She  had  had  enough  of  him  and  his 
wile,  with  her  airs  and  graces,  and 
the  children  crying  all  night,  and  the 
furniture  spoiled,  and  the  bills  not 
even  ])aid  !  "  1  wanted  him  to  think 
that  me  and  Philip  was  friends  no 
longer;  and  Heaven  forgive  me  for 
telling  stories  !  I  know  this  fellow 
means  no  good  to  Philip  ;  and  before 
long  I  will  know  wliut  he  means,  that 
I  will,"  she  vowed. 

For,  on  the  veiy  day  when  Mr. 
Hunt  paid  her  a  visit,  Mrs.  Brandon 
came  to  see  Philip's  friends,  and  ac- 
quaint them  with  Hunt's  anival. 
We  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  the 
bearer  of  the  forged  bill  with  which 
poor  Philip  was  threatened.  As  yet 
Hunt  had  made  no  allusion  to  it. 
But,  though  we  are  far  from  sanction- 
ing deceit  or  hypocrisy,  we  own  that  we 
were  not  very  angry  with  the  Little  Sis- 
ter for  employing  dissimulation  in  the 
present  instance,  and  inducing  Hunt 
to  believe  that  she  was  by  no  means 
an  accomplice  of  Philip.  If  Philip's 
wife  pardoned  her,  ought  his  friends 
to  be  less  forgiving  ?    To  do  right, 


392 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


you  know  you  must  not  do  wrong, 
thouj^li  I  own  this  was  one  of  the 
cases  in  wliich  I  :ini  inclined  not  to 
deal  very  hardly  with  the  well-mean- 
ini;  little  criminal 

Now,  Charlotte  had  to  pardon  (and 
for  this  fault,  if  not  for  some  others, 
Charlotte  dd  most  heartily  pardon) 
our  little  friend,  for  this  reason,  that 
Brandon  most  wantonly  raaigned 
h.T.  When  Hunt  asked  what  sort  of 
wife  Piiilip  had  married  ?  Mrs.  Bran- 
don declared  tliat  Mrs.  Piiilip  was  a 
pert,  odious  little  tliiufj ;  that  she  gave 
herself  airs,  naglected  her  children, 
bullied  her  husband,  and  what  not ; 
and,  Knally,  Brandon  vowed  that  she 
disliked  Charlott  •,  and  was  very  glad 
to  get  her  out  of  the  house  :  and  that 
Philip  was  not  the  same  Philip  since 
he  married  her,  and  that  hn  gave  him- 
self airs,  and  was  rude,  and  in  all 
things  led  by  his  wifj ;  and  to  get  rid 
of  them  was  a  good  riddance. 

Hunt  gracefully  sugirested  that 
quarrels  between  landhvdies  and  ten- 
ants were  not  unusual ;  that  lodgers 
sometimes  did  not  pay  their  rent 
punctually  ;  that  others  were  unrea- 
sonably anxious  about  the  consump- 
tion of  their  groceries,  liquors,  and  so 
forth ;  and  little  Brandon,  who,  rather 
than  steal  a  pennyworth  from  her 
Philip,  would  have  cut  her  hand  off, 
laughed  at  her  guest's  joke,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  amused  with  his  know- 
ing hints  that  she  was  a  rogue. 
There  was  not  a  word  he  said  but  she 
received  it  with  a  gracious  acquies- 
cence :  she  might  shudder  inwardly 
at  the  leering  familiarity  of  the  odious 
tipsy  wretch,  but  she  gave  no  outward 
sign  of  disgust  or  fear.  She  allowed 
him  to  talk  as  much  as  he  would,  in 
hopes  that  he  would  come  to  a  sub- 
ject which  deeply  interested  her. 
She  asked  about  the  Doctor,  and  what 
he  was  doing,  and  whether  it  was 
likelv  that  he  would  ever  be  able  to 


"  0,  you  are  still  hankering  after 
him,"  says  the  Chaplain,  winking  a 
bloodshot  eye. 

"Hankering  after  that  old  man'. 
AVhat  should  I  care  for  him  ?  As  if 
he  have  n't  done  me  harm  enough 
already  !  "  cries  poor  Caroline. 

"  Yes.  But  women  don't  dislike  a 
man  the  worse  for  a  little  ill-usage," 
suggests  Hunt.  No  doubt  the  fellow 
had  made  his  own  experiments  oa 
woman's  fidelity. 

"  Well,  I  suppose,"  says  Brandon, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head,  "  women 
may  get  tired  as  well  as  men,  may  n't 
they  '  I  found  out  that  man,  and 
wearied  of  liim  years  and  years  ago. 
Another  little  drop  out  of  the  green 
bottle,  Mr.  Hunt !  It 's  very  good 
for  ague-fever,  and  keeps  the  cold 
fit  off  wonderful !  " 

And  Hunt  drank,  and  he  talked  a 
little  more,  —  much  more  :  and  he 
gave  his  opinion  of  the  elder  Firmin, 
and  spoke  of  his  chances  of  success, 
and  of  his  rage  for  speculations,  and 
doubted  whether  he  would  ever  be 
able  to  lift  his  head  again,  —  though 
he  might,  he  might  still.  He  was  in 
tne  country  where,  if  ever  a  man 
could  retrieve  hitnself,  he  had  a 
chance.  And  Philip  was  giving  him- 
self airs,  was  he  ?  He  was  always 
an  arrogant  chap,  that  Mr.  Philip. 
And  he  had  left  her  house  ?  and  was 
gone  ever  so  long  ?  and  where  did  he 
live  now  ? 

Then  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Bran- 
don asked,  how  should  s/ie  know 
where  Philip  lived  now  1  She  be- 
lieved it  was  near  Gray's  Inn,  or 
Lincoln's  Inn,  or  somewhere ;  and 
she  was  for  turning  the  conversation 
away  from  this  subject  altogether : 
and  sought  to  do  so  by  man}-  lively 
remarks  and  ingenious  little  artifices 
which  I  can  imagine,  but  which  she 
only  in  part  acknowledged  to  me.  — 
for  vou  must  ktiow  that  as  soon  as  her 


pay  i)ack  any  of  that  money  which  he  ;  visitor  took  leave,  —  to  turn  into  the 
hid  tak-n  from  his  son  ^     And  she    "Admiral  Byng  "  public-house,  and 


spoke  with  an  indifferent  tone,  pre- 
tending t)  be  ver\'  busy  over  some 
work  at  which  she  was  stitching. 


renew  acquaintance  with  the  worthies 
assembled  in  the  parlor  of  that  tav- 
ern, Mrs.  Brandon  ran  away  to  a  cab^ 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


393 


drove  in  it  to  Philip's  house  in  Mil- 
man  Street,  where  only  Mrs.  Philip 
was  at  home,  —  and  after  a  huiale 
conversation  with  her,  which  puzzled 
Charlotte  not  a  little,  for  Brandon 
would  not  say  on  what  errand 
she  came,  and  never  mentiuned 
Hunt's  arrival  and  visit  to  her,  —  the 
Little  Sister  made  her  way  to  another 
cab,  and  presently  made  her  appear- 
ance at  the  house  of  Philip's  friends 
in  Queen  Square.  And  here  she 
informed  me,  how  Hunt  had  arrived, 
and  how  she  was  sure  he  meant  no 
good  to  Philip,  and  how  she  had  told 
certain  —  certain  stories  which  were 
not  founded  in  fact  —  to  Mr.  Hunt ; 
for  the  telling  of  which  fibs  I  am  not 
about  to  endeavor  to  excuse  her. 

Though  the  interesting  clergyman 
had  not  said  one  word  regarding  that 
bill  of  which  Philip's  father  had 
warned  him,  we  believed  that  the  docu- 
ment was  in  Hunt's  possession,  and 
that  it  would  be  produced  in  due  sea- 
son. We  happened  to  know  where 
Philip  dined,  and  sent  him  word  to 
come  to  us. 

"  What  can  he  mean  1 "  the  people 
asked  at  the  table,  —  a  bachelors' 
table  at  the  Temple  (for  Philip's  good 
wife  actually  encouraged  him  to  go 
abroad  from  time  to  time,  and  make 
merry  with  his  friends).  "What 
can  this  mean  ?  "  and  they  read  out 
the  scrap  of  paper  which  he  had  cast 
down  as  he  was  summoned  away. 

Philip's  correspondent  wrote:  "Dear 
Philip, —  I  believe  the  bearer  of 
THE  BOWSTRING  has  arrived ;  and 
has  been  with  the  L.  S.  this  very 
day." 

The  L.  S.  1  the  bearer  of  the  bow- 
string ?  Not  one  of  the  bachelors  din- 
ing in  Parchment  Buildings  could 
read  the  riddle.  Only  after  receiving 
the  scrap  of  paper  Philip  had  jumped 
up  and  left  the  room ;  and  a  friend 
of  ours,  a  sly  wag  and  Don  Juan  of 
Pump  Court,  offered  to  take  odds 
that  there  was  a  lady  in  the  case. 

At  the  hasty  little  council  which 
was  convened  at  our  house  on  the  re- 
ceipt of  the  news,  the  Little  Sister, 
17* 


whose  instinct  had  not  betrayed  her, 
was  made  acquainted  with  the  precise 
nature  of  the  danger  which  menaced 
Philip;  and  exhiinted  a  fine  hearty 
wrath  wiien  she  hcurd  how  he  pro- 
posed to  meet  the  enemy  He  had 
a  certain  sum  in  hand.  He  would 
borrow  more  of  his  friends,  who 
knew  that  he  was  an  honest  man. 
This  bill  he  would  meet,  whatevet 
might  come;  and  avert  at  least  this 
disgrace  from  his  father. 

What?  Give  in  to  those  rogues? 
Leave  his  children  to  stane,  and  his 
poor  wife  to  turn  drudge  and  house- 
senant,  who  was  not  fit  for  anything 
but  a  fine  lady  ?  (There  was  no  love 
lost,  you  see,  between  these  two  la- 
dies, who  both  loved  Mr.  Philip.)  It 
was  a  sin  and  a  shame !  Mrs.  Bran- 
don averred,  and  declared  she  thought 
Phili])  had  been  a  man  of  more  spirit. 
Philip's  friend  has  liefure  stated  his 
own  private  sentiments  regarding  the 
calamity  which  menaced  Firmin. 
To  pay  this  bill  was  to  bring  a  dozen 
more  down  upon  him.  Philip  might 
as  well  resist  now  as  at  a  later  day. 
Such,  in  fact,  was  the  opinion  given 
by  the  reader's  very  humble  servant 
at  command. 

My  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  took 
Philip's  side.  She  was  very  much 
moved  at  his  announcement  that  he 
would  forgive  his  father  this  once  at 
least,  and  endeavor  to  cover  his  sin. 

"As  you  hope  to  be  forgiven  your- 
self, dear  Philip,  I  am  sure  you  are 
doing  right,"  Laura  said  ;  "  I  am  sure 
Charlotte  will  think  so." 

"  O,  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  "  inter- 
poses the  Little  Sister,  rather  peevish- 
ly ;  "of  course,  Mrs.  Philip  thinks 
whatever  her  husband  tells  her  !  " 

"  In  his  own  time  of  trial  Philip 
has  been  met  with  wonderful  succor 
and  kindness,"  Laura  urged.  "  See 
how  one  thing  after  another  has  con- 
tributed to  help  him !  When  he 
wanted,  there  were  friends  always  at 
his  need.  If  he  wants  again,  I  am 
sure  my  husband  and  I  will  share 
with  him."  (I  may  have  made  a  wry 
face  at  this ;   for,  with  the  best  feel- 


394 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


inffs  towards  a  man,  and  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  know  it  is  not  always  con- 
venient to  be  lending  him  five  or  six 
hundred  pounds  without  security.) 
"  My  dear  husband  and  I  will  share 
with  him,"  goes  on  Mrs.  Laura; 
"  won't  we,  Arthur  ?  Yes,  Brandon, 
that  we  will.  Be  sure,  Charlotte  and 
the  children  shall  not  want  because 
Philip  covers  his  father's  wrong,  and 
hides  it  from  the  world!  God  bless 
you,  dear  friend ! "  and  what  does 
this  woman  do  next,  and  before  her 
husband's  face  ?  Actually  she  goes 
up  to  Philip ;  she  takes  his  hand  — 
and  —  Well,  what  took  place  be- 
fore my  own  eyes,  I  do  not  choose  to 
write  down. 

"  She  's  encouraging  him  to  ruin 
the  children  for  the  sake  of  that  — 
that  wicked  old  brute ! "  cries  Mrs. 
Brandon.  "  It 's  enough  to  provoke 
a  saint,  it  is ! "  And  she  seizes  up 
her  bonnet  from  the  table,  and  claps 
it  on  her  head,  and  walks  out  of  our 
room  in  a  little  tempest  of  wrath. 

My  wife,  clasping  her  hands,  whis- 
pers a  few  words,  which  say  :  "  For- 
give us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive 
them  who  trespass  against  us." 

"  Yes,"  says  Philip,  very  much 
moved.  "It  is  the  Divine  order. 
You  are  right,  dear  Laura.  I  have 
had  a  weary  time ;  and  a  terrible 
gloom  of  doubt  and  sadness  over  my 
mind  whilst  I  have  been  debating  this 
matter,  and  before  I  had  determined 
to  do  as  you  would  have  me.  But  a 
great  weight  is  off  my  heart  since  I 
have  been  enabled  to  see  what  ray 
conduct  should  be.  What  hundreds 
of  struggling  men  as  well  as  myself 
have  met  with  losses,  and  faced 
them !  I  will  pay  this  bill,  and  I  will 
warn  the  drawer  to  —  to  spare  me  for 
the  future." 

Now  that  the  Little  Sister  had 
gone  away  in  her  fit  of  indignation, 
you  see  I  was  left  in  a  minority  in  the 
council  of  war,  and  the  opposition 
was  quite  too  strong  for  me.  I  began 
to  be  of  the  majority's  opinion.  I 
dare  say  I  am  not  the  only  gentle- 
man who  has  been  led  round  by  a 


woman.  We  men  of  great  strength 
of  mind  very  frequently  are.  Yes, 
my  wife  convinced  me  with  passages 
from  her  text-book,  admitting  of  no 
contradiction  according  to  her  judg- 
ment, that  Philip's  duty  was  to  for- 
give his  father. 

"  And  how  lucky  it  was  we  did  not 
buy  the  chintzes  that  day  ! "  says 
Laura,  with  a  laugh.  "  Do  you  know 
there  were  two  which  were  so  pretty 
that  Charlotte  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  which  of  the  two  she  would 
take  1  " 

Philip  roared  out  one  of  his  laughs, 
which  made  the  windows  shake.  He 
was  in  great  spirits.  For  a  man  who 
was  going  to  ruin  himself,  he  was  in 
the  most  enviable  good-humor.  Did 
Charlotte  know  about  this  —  this 
claim  which  was  impending  over  him  ? 
Xo.  It  might  make  her  anxious,  — 
poor  little  thing !  Philip  had  not 
told  her.  He  had  thought  of  conceal- 
ing the  matter  from  her.  What  need 
was  there  to  disturb  her  rest,  poor 
innocent  child  1  You  sec,  we  all 
treated  Mrs.  Charlotte  more  or  less 
like  a  child.  Philip  played  with  her. 
J.  J.,  the  painter,  coaxed  and  dandled 
her,  so  to  speak.  The  Little  Sister 
loved  her,  but  certainly  with  a  love 
that  was  not  respectful ;  and  Charlotte 
took  everybody's  good-will  with  a 
pleasant  meekness  and  sweet  smiling 
content.  It  was  not  for  Laura  to 
give  ad\'ice  to  man  and  wife  ;  (as  if  the 
woman  was  not  always  giving  lectures 
to  Philip  and  his  young  wife!)  but 
in  the  present  instance  she  thought 
Mrs.  Philip  certainly  ought  to  know 
what  Philip's  real  situation  was  ;  what 
danger  was  menacing  ;  "  and  how  ad- 
mirable and  right,  and  Chri.stian  — 
and  you  will  have  your  reward  for  it, 
dear  Philip !  "  interjects  the  enthusi- 
astic lady  —  "  your  conduct  has 
been ! " 

When  we  came,  as  we  straightway 
did  in  a  cab,  to  Charlotte's  house,  to 
expound  the  matter  to  her,  goodness 
bless  us !  she  was  not  shocked,  or 
anxious,  or  frightened  at  all.  Mrs. 
Brandon  had  just  been  with  her,  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


395 


told  her  of  what  was  happeninfr,  and 
she  had  said,  "  Of  course,  Philip 
ought  to  help  his  father ;  and  Bran- 
don had  gone  away  quite  in  a  tantrum 
of  anger,  and  had  really  been  quite 
rude  ;  and  she  should  not  pardon  her, 
only  she  knew  how  dearly  the  Little 
Sister  loved  Philip ;  and  of  course 
they  must  help  Dr.  Pirmin  ;  and  wiiat 
dreadful,  dreadful  distress  he  must 
have  been  in  to  do  as  he  did  !  But 
he  had  warned  Philip,  you  know," 
and  so  forth.  "  And  as  for  the  chint- 
zes, Laura,  wh}'  1  suppose  we  must 
go  on  with  the  old  shabby  covers. 
You  know  they  will  do  very  well  till 
next  year."  This  was  the  way  in 
which  Mrs.  Charlotte  received  the 
news  whicb  Philip  had  concealed  from 
her,  least  it  should  terrify  her.  As 
if  a  loving  woman  was  ever  very 
much  frightened  at  being  called  upon 
to  share  her  husband's  misfortune ! 

As  for  the  little  case  of  forgery,  I 
don't  believe  the  young  person  could 
ever  be  got  to  see  the  heinous  nature 
of  Dr.  Firmin's  offence.  The  des- 
perate little  logician  seemed  rather  to 
pity  the  father  than  the  son  in  the 
business.  "  How  dreadfully  pressed 
he  must  have  been  when  he  did  it, 
poor  man  !  "  she  said.  "  To  be  sure, 
he  ought  not  to  have  done  it  at  all ;  but 
think  of  his  necessity  !  That  is  what 
I  said  to  Brandon.  Now  there  's  little 
Philip's  cake  in  the  cupboard  which 
you  brought  him.  Now  suppose  papa 
was  very  hungry,  and  went  and  took 
some  without  asking  Philly,  he  would 
n't  be  so  very  wrong,  I  think,  would 
he  ?  A  child  is  glad  enough  to  give 
for  his  father,  is  n't  he  ?  And  when 
I  said  this  to  Brandon,  she  was  so 
rude  and  violent,  I  really  have  no 
patience  with  her !  And  she  forgets 
that  I  am  a  lady,  and,"  &c.,  &c.  So 
it  appeared  the  Little  Sister  had  made 
a  desperate  attempt  to  bring  over 
Charlotte  to  her  side,  was  still  minded 
to  rescue  Philip  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  had  gone  off  in  wrath  at  her 
defeat. 

We  looked  to  the  Doctor's  letters, 
and  ascertained  the  date  of  the  bill. 


It  had  crossed  the  water  and  would 
be  at  I'hilip's  door  in  a  very  few  days. 
Had  Hunt  brought  it?  The  rascal 
would  have  it  presented  through  some 
regular  channel,  no  doubt ;  and  Philip 
and  all  of  us  totted  uj)  ways  and  means, 
and  strove  to  make  the  slender  figures 
look  as  big  as  possible,  as  the  thrifty 
housewife  puts  a  patch  here  and  a 
darn  there,  and  cuts  a  little  slice  out 
of  this  old  garment,  so  as  to  make  the 
poor  little  frock  serve  for  winter  wear. 
We  had  so  much  at  the  banker's. 
A  friend  might  help  with  a  little  ad- 
vance. We  would  fairly  ask  a  loan 
from  the  Review.  We  were  in  a 
scrape,  but  we  would  meet  with  it. 
And  so  with  resolute  hearts,  we  would 
prepare  to  receive  the  Bearer  of  the 
Bowstring. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE    BEARER    OF    THE    BOWSTRING. 

The  poor  Little  Sister  trudged 
away  from  Milman  Street  exasper- 
ated with  Philip,  with  Philip's  wife, 
and  with  the  determination  of  the  pair 
to  accept  the  hopeless  ruin  impending 
over  them.  "  Three  hundred  and 
eighty-six  pounds  four  and  ihree- 
pence,"  she  thought,  "  to  pay  for  that 
wicked  old  villain  !  It  is  more  than 
poor  Philip  is  worth,  with  all  his  sav- 
ings and  his  little  sticks  of  furniture. 
I  know  what  he  will  do :  he  will  bor- 
row of  the  money-lenders,  and  give 
those  bills,  and  renew  them,  and  end 
by  ruin.  When  he  have  paid  this 
bill,  that  old  villain  will  forge  another, 
and  that  precious  wife  of  his  will  tell 
him  to  pay  that,  I  suppose  ;  and  those 
little  darlings  will  be  begging  for 
bread,  unless  they  come  and  eat  mine, 
to  which  —  God  bless  them  !  —  they 
are  always  welcome."  She  calcu- 
lated—it' was  a  sum  not  difficult  to 
reckon  —  the  amount  of  her  own  little 
store  of  saved  ready  money.  To  pay 
four  hundred  pounds  out  of  such  an 
income  as  Philip's,  she  felt,  was  an 
attempt  vain  and  impossible.  "  And 
he  must  n't  have  my  poor  little  stock- 


396 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP. 


ing  now,"  she  argued ; "  they  will  wan^ 
that  presently  when  their  pride  is 
hrokcn  down,  as  it  will  be,  and  my 
darlings  are  hungering  for  their  din- 
ner ! "  Revolving  this  dismal  matter 
in  her  mind,  and  scarce  knowing 
where  to  go  for  comfort  and  counsel, 
slie  made  her  way  to  her  good  friend. 
Dr.  Goodenough,  and  found  that 
worthy  man,  who  had  always  a  wel- 
come for  iiis  Little  Sister. 

She  found  Goodenough  alone  in 
his  great  dining-room,  taking  a  very 
slender  meal,  after  visiting  his  hos- 
pital and  his  fifty  patients,  among 
whom  I  think  there  were  more  poor 
than  ricli :  and  the  good  sleepy  doctor 
woke  up  with  a  vengeance,  when  he 
heard  his  little  nurse's  news,  and  fired 
off  a  volley  of  angry  language  against 
Philip  and  his  scoundrel  of  a  father  ; 
"  which  it  was  a  comfort  to  hear  him," 
little  Brandon  told  us  afterwards. 
Then  Goodenough  trotted  out  of  the 
dining-room  into  the  adjoining  library 
and  consulting-room,  whither  his  old 
friend  followed  him.  Then  he  pulled 
out  a  bunch  of  keys  and  opened  a 
secretaire,  from  which  he  took  a 
parchment-covered  volume,  on  which 
J.  Goodenough,  Esq.,  M.  D.,  was  writ- 
ten in  a  fine  legible  hand,  —  and 
which,  in  fact,  was  a  banker's  book. 
The  inspection  of  the  MS.  volume  in 
question  must  have  pleased  the  wor- 
thy physician  ;  for  a  grin  came  over 
his  venerable  features,  and  he  straight- 
way drew  out  of  the  desk  a  slim  vol- 
ume of  gray  paper,  on  each  page  of 
which  were  inscribed  the  highly  re- 
spectable names  of  -Messrs.  Stumpy  and 
Rowdy  and  Co.,  of  Lombard  Street, 
Bankers.  On  a  slip  of  gray  paper 
the  Doctor  wrote  a  prescription  for  a 
draught,  sUitini  sumendus  —  (a  draught 
—  mark  my  pleasantry)  —  which  he 
handed   over   to  his   little  friend. 

"  There,  you  little  fool !  "  said  he. 
"  The  father  is  a  rascal, but  the  boy  is 
a  fine  fellow  ;  and  you,  you  little  silly 
thing,  I  must  help  in  this  business  my- 
self, or  you  will  t;o  and  niiii  yourself; 
I  know  you  will !  C)tfcr  this  to  the 
fellow  for  his  bill.     Or,  stay  !     How 


much  money  is  there  in  the  house  ? 
Perhaps  the  sight  of  notes  and  gold 
will  tempt  him  more  than  a  check." 
And  the  Doctor  emptied  his  pockets 
of  all  the  fees  which  happened  to  be 
therein,  —  I  don't  know  how  many 
fees  of  shining  shillings  and  sover- 
eigns, neatly  wrapped  up  in  paper ; 
and  he  emptied  a  drawer  in  which 
there  was  more  silver  and  gold ;  and 
he  trotted  up  to  his  bedroom,  and  came 
panting,  presently,  down  stairs  with  a 
fat  little  pocket-book,  containing  a 
bundle  of  notes,  and  with  one  thing 
or  another,  he  made  up  a  sum  of — 
I  won't  mention  what ;  but  this  sum 
of  money,  I  say,  he  thrust  into  the 
Little  Sister's  hand,  and  said,  "  Try 
the  fellow  with  this.  Little  Sister; 
and  see  if  you  can  get  the  bill  from 
him.  Don't  say  it 's  my  money,  or 
the  scoundrel  will  be  for  having 
twenty  shillings  in  the  pound.  Say 
it 's  yours,  and  there  's  no  more  where 
that  came  from  ;  and  coax  him,  and 
wheedle  him,  and  tell  him  plenty  of 
lies,  my  dear.  It  won't  break  your 
heart  to  do  that.  What  an  immortal 
scoundrel  Brummel  Firmin  is,  to  be 
sure  !  Though,  by  the  way,  in  two 
more  cases  at  the  hospital  I  have  tried 
that  —  "  And  here  the  Doctor  went 
off  into  a  professional  conversation 
with  his  favorite  nurse,  which  I  could 
not  presume  to  repeat  to  any  non-med- 
ical men. 

The  Little  Sister  bade  God  bless  Doc- 
tor Goodenough,  and  wiped  hcT  glis- 
tening eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
put  away  the  notes  and  gold  with  a 
trembling  little  hand,  and  trudgeu  off 
with  a  lightsome  step  and  a  happy 
heart.  Arrived  at  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  she  thought,  shall  I  jzo  home,  or 
shall  I  go  to  poor  Mrs.  Philip  and  take 
her  this  money  ?  No.  Their  talk  that 
day  had  not  been  very  pleasant : 
words,  very  like  high  words,  had 
passed  between  them,  and  our  Little 
Sister  had  to  own  to  herself  that  she 
had  bctn  rather  rude  in  her  late  col- 
lo(|ny  with  Charlotte.  And  she  was 
a  proud  Little  Sister  :  at  least  she  did 
not  care  tor  to  own  that  she  had  beeH 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


397 


Iiasty  or  disrespectful  in  her  conduct 
to  that  young:  woman.  She  had  too 
much  spirit  for  tliat.  Have  we  ever 
said  that  our  little  friend  was  exempt 
from  the  prejudices  and  vanities  of 
this  wicked  world  ?  Well,  to  rescue 
Philip,  to  secure  the  fatal  bill,  to  go 
with  it  to  Charlotte,  and  say, 
"  There,  Mrs.  Philip,  there  's  your 
husband's  liberty."  It  would  be  a 
rare  triumph,  that  it  would  !  And 
Philip  would  promise,  on  his  honor, 
that  this  should  be  the  last  and  only 
bi.l  he  would  pay  for  that  wretched 
old  father.  With  these  happy 
thoughts  swelling  in  her  little  heart, 
Mrs.  Brandon  made  her  way  to  the 
familiar  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street, 
and  would  have  a  little  bit  of  supper, 
so  she  would.  And  laid  her  own  lit- 
tle cloth ;  and  set  forth  her  little  forks 
and  spoons,  which  were  as  bright  as 
rubbing  could  make  them  ;  and  I  am 
authorized  to  state  that  her  repast 
consisted  of  two  nice  little  lamb-chops, 
which  she  purchased  from  her  neigh- 
bor, Mr.  Chump,  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  after  a  pleasant  little  conversa- 
tion with  that  gentleman  and  his 
good  lady.  And,  with  her  bit  of  sup- 
per, after  a  day's  work,  our  little 
friend  would  sometimes  indulge  in  a 
glass  —  a  little  glass  —  of  some- 
thing comfortable.  The  case-bottle 
was  in  the  cupboard,  out  of  which  her 
poor  Pa  had  been  wont  to  mix  his 
tumblers  for  many  a  long  day.  So, 
having  prepared  it  with  her  own 
hands,  down  she  sat  to  her  little  meal 
tired  and  happy  ;  and  as  she  thought 
of  the  otcunences  of  the  day,  and  of 
the  rescue  which  had  come  so  oppor- 
tunely to  her  beloved  Philip  and  his 
cliildren,  I  am  sure  she  said  a  grace 
before  her  meat. 

Her  candies  being  lighted  and  her 
blind  up,  any  one  in  the  street  could 
see  that,  her  chamber  was  occupied  ; 
and  at  al)out  ten  o'clock  at  night  there 
came  a  heavy  step  clinkinsi  along  the 
pavement,  the  sound  of  which,  I  have 
no  doubt,  made  the  Little  Sister  start 
a  little.  The  heavy  foot  paused  be- 
fore her  window,  and  presently  clat- 


tered up  the  steps  of  her  door. 
Tlicn,  as  her  bell  rang,  —  I  consider 
it  is  most  probable  that  her  check 
Hushed  a  little,  —  she  went  to  her 
hall  door  and  opened  it  herself. 
"  Lor',  is  it  you,  Mr.  Hunt?  Well, 
I  never  !  that  is,  I  thought  you  might 
come.  lleally,  now,"  — "and  with 
the  moonlight  behind  him,  the  dingy 
Hunt  swaggered  in. 

"  How  comfortable  you  looked  at 
your  little  table,"  says  Hunt,  with  his 
hat  over  his  eye. 

"  Won't  you  step  in  and  sit  down 
to  it,  and  take  something?  "  asks  the 
smiling  hostess. 

Of  course  Hunt  would  take  some- 
thing. Aiul  the  greasy  hat  is  taken 
off  his  head  with  a  flourish,  and  he 
struts  into  the  poor  Little  Sister's  lit- 
tle room,  pulling  a  wisp  of  grizzling 
hair,  and  endeavoring  to  assume  a 
careless,  fashionable  look.  The  din- 
gy hand  had  seized  the  case-bottle  in 
a  moment.  "  What !  you  do  a  little 
in  this  way,  do  you  ?  "  he  says,  and 
winks  amiably  at  Mrs.  Brandon  and 
the  bottle.  She  takes  ever  so  little, 
she  owns  ;  and  reminds  him  of  days 
which  he  must  remember,  when  she 
had  a  wineglass  out  of  ])Oor  Pa's 
tumbler.  A  bright  little  kettle  is 
singing  on  the  fire, — will  not  Mr. 
Hunt  mix  a  glass  lor  himself?  She 
takes  a  bright  beaker  from  the  corner 
cupboard,  which  is  near  her,  with  her 
keys  hanging  from  it. 

"0  —  lio!  that's  where  we  keep 
the  ginnims,  is  it  ?  "  says  the  grace- 
ful Hunt  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  papa  always  kept  it  there," 
says  Caroline  meekly.  And  whilst 
her  back  is  turned  to  llstch  a  canister 
from  the  cupboard,  she  knows  that 
the  astute  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  the 
opjjortunity  to  fill  a  good  large  meas- 
ure from  the  square  bottle.  "  Make 
yourself  welcome,"  says  the  Little 
Sister,  in  her  gay,  artless  way; 
"  there 's  more  where  that  camo 
from  !  "  And  Hunt  drinks  his  hos- 
tess's health  :  and  she  bows  to  him, 
and  smiles,  and  sips  a  little  from  her 
own  glass :  and  the  little  lady  looks 


398 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP. 


quite  pretty,  and  rosy,  and  bright. 
Her  cheeks  are  like  apples,  her  figure 
is  trim  and  graceful,  and  always 
attired  in  the  neatest-fitting  gown. 
By  the  comfortable  light  of  the  can- 
dles on  her  sparkling  tables,  you 
scarce  see  the  silver  lines  in  her  light 
hair,  or  the  marks  which  time  has 
made  round  her  eyes.  Hunt  gazes 
on  her  with  admiration. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  vow  you  look 
younger  and  prettier  than  when  — 
when  I  saw  you  first." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hunt ! "  cries  Mrs.  Bran- 
don, with  a  flush  on  her  cheek,  which 
becomes  it,  "don't  recall  that  time, 
or  that  —  that  wretch  who  served  me 
so  cruel ! " 

"  He  was  a  scoundrel,  Caroline,  to 
treat  as  he  did  such  a  woman  as 
you  !  The  fellow  has  no  principle ; 
he  was  a  bad  one  from  the  beginnmg. 
Why,  he  ruined  me  as  well  as  you : 
got  me  to  play  ;  run  me  into  debt  by 
introducing  me  to  his  fine  companions. 
I  was  a  simple  young  fellow  then,  and 
thought  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  live  with 
fellow-commoners  and  noblemen  who 
drove  their  tandems  and  gave  their 
grand  dinners.  It  was  he  that  led  me 
astray,  I  tell  you.  I  might  have  been 
Fellow  of  my  college,  —  had  a  living, 
—  married  a  good  wife,  —  risen  to  be  a 
bishop,  by  George !  —  for  I  had  great 
talents,  Caroline ;  only  I  was  so  con- 
founded idle,  and  fond  of  the  cards 
and  the  bones." 

"  The  bones  1  "  cries  Caroline,  with 
a  b"fcwildered  look. 

"  The  dice,  my  dear !  '  Seven  's  the 
main  '  was  my  ruin  '  Seven  's  the 
main '  and  eleven  's  the  nick  to  seven. 
That  used  to  be  the  little  game !  " 
And  he  made  a  graceful  gesture  with 
his  empty  wineglass,  as  though  he 
were  tossing  a  pair  of  dice  on  the  ta- 
ble. "  The  man  next  to  me  in  lec- 
ture is  a  bishop  now,  and  I  could 
knock  his  head  oflF  in  Greek  iambics 
and  Latin  hexameters  too.  In  my  sec- 
ond year  I  got  the  Latin  declamation 
prize,  I  tell  you  —  " 

"  Brandon  always  said  you  were 
one  of  the  cleverest  men  at  the  college. 


He  always  said  thai,  I  remember," 
remarks  the  lady,  very  respectfully. 

"Did  he  ?  He  did  say  a  good 
word  for  me  then  1  Brummell  Fir- 
min  was  n't  a  clever  man ;  he  was  n't 
a  reading  man.  Whereas  I  would 
back  myself,  for  a  Sapphic  ode 
against  any  man  in  my  college, — 
against  any  man !  Thank  you. 
You  do  mix  it  so  uncommon  hot  and 
well,  there  's  no  saying  no ;  indeed, 
there  ain't!  Though  I  have  had 
enough,  — upon  my  honor,  I  have." 

"  Lor' !  I  thought  you  men  could 
drink  anything  !     And  Mr.  Brandon 

—  Mr.  Firmin  you  said  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  said  Brummell  Firmin 
was  a  swell  somehow.  He  had  a  sort 
of  grand  manner  with  him  —  " 

"  Yes,  he  had,"  sighed  Caroline. 
And  I  dare  say  her  thoughts  wan- 
dered back  to  a  time  long,  long  ago, 
when  this  grand  gentleman  had  cap- 
tivated her. 

"  And  it  was  trying  to  keep  up  ^yiih 
him  that  ruined  me.  I  quarrelled  with 
my  poor  old  governor  about  money, 
of  course;  grew  idle,  and  lost  my 
Fellowship.  Then  the  bills  came 
down  upon  me.  I  tell  you,  there  are 
some  of  my  college  ticks  ain't  paid 
now." 

"  College  ticks  ?  Law !  "  ejacu- 
lates the  lady.     "  And  —  " 

"  Tailors'  ticks,  tavern  ticks,  livery- 
stable  ticks, — for  there  were  fomous 
hacks  in  our  days,  and  I  used  to  hunt 
with  the  tip-top  men.  I  was  n't  bad 
across  country,  I  was  n't.  But  we 
can't  keep  the  pace  with  those  rich 
fellows.     We  try,  and  they  go  ahead, 

—  they  ride  us  down.  Do  you  think, 
if  I  had  n't  been  very  hard  up,  I 
would  have  done  what  I  did  to  you, 
Caroline  f  You  poor  little  innocent 
suffering  thing.  It  was  a  shame. 
It  was  a  shame !  " 

"  Yes,  a  shame  it  was,"  cries  Car- 
oline. "  And  that  I  never  gainsay. 
You  did  deal  hard  with  a  poor  girl, 
both  of  you." 

"  It  was  rascally.  But  Firmin  was 
the  worst.  He  had  me  in  his  power. 
It  was  he  led  me  wrong.     It  was  he 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


399 


drove  me  into  debt,  and  then  abroad, 
and  then  into  qu —  into  jail,  per- 
haps :  and  then  into  this  kind  of 
thing.  ("  This  kind  of  thing  "  has 
before  been  explained  elegantly  to 
signify  a  tumbler  of  hot  grog. )  "  And 
my  father  would  n't  see  me  on  his 
death-bed  ;  and  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ters broke  with  me ;  and  I  owe  it  all 
to  Brummell  Firmin,  —  all.  Do  you 
think,  after  ruining  me,  he  ought  n't 
to  pay  me  1 "  and  again  lie  thumps  a 
dusky  hand  upon  the  table.  It  made 
dingy  marks  on  the  poor  Little  Sister's 
spotless  table-cloth.  It  rubbed  its 
owner's  forehead,  and  lank,  grizzling 
hair. 

"  And  me,  Mr.  Hunt  ?  What  do 
he  owe  me  1 "  asks  Hunt's  hostess. 

"  Caroline !  "  cries  Hunt,  "  I  have 
made  Brummell  Firmin  pay  me  a 
good  bit  back  already,  but  I  '11  have 
more  " ;  and  he  thumped  his  breast, 
and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast- 
pocket as  he  spoke,  and  clutched  at 
something  within.     *^ 

"  It  is  there !  "  thought  Caroline. 
She  might  turn  pale  ;  but  he  did  not 
remark  her  pallor.  He  was  all  intent 
on  drink,  on  vanity,  on  revenge. 

"  I  have  him,"  I  say.  "  He  owes 
me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  has  paid  me  a 
good  bit ;  and  he  shall  pay  me  a  good 
bit  more.  Do  you  think  I  am  a  fel- 
low who  will  be  ruined  and  insulted, 
and  won't  revenge  myself?  You 
should  have  seen  his  face  when  I 
turned  up  at  New  York  at  the  'As- 
tor  House,'  and  said,  '  Brummell,  old 
fellow,  here  I  am,'  I  said :  and  he 
turned  as  white  —  as  white  as  this 
table-cloth.  '  [  'II  never  leave  you, 
my  boy,'  I  said.  '  Other  fellows  may 
go  from  you,  but  old  Tom  Hunt  will 
stick  to  you.  Let 's  go  into  the  bar 
and  have  a  drink ! '  and  he  was 
obliged  to  come.  And  I  have  him 
now  in  my  power,  I  tell  you.  And 
when  I  say  to  him,  '  Brummell,  have 
a  drink,'  drink  he  must.  His  bald 
old  lieiid  must  go  into  the  pail ! " 
And  Mr.  Hunt  laughed  a  laugh  which 
I  dare  say  was  not  agreeable. 
After  a  pause  he  went  on  :   "  Caro-  I 


line!  Do  you  hate  him,  I  say?  or 
do  yon  like  a  fellow  who  deserttd  you 
and  treated  you  like  a  scoundrel? 
Some  women  do.  I  could  tell  of  wo- 
men who  do.  I  could  tell  von  of 
other  fellows,  perhaps,  but  T  won't. 
Do  you  hate  Bruniniell  Firmin,  that 
bald-headed  Brum  — hypocrite,  and 
that  —  that  insolent  rascal  who  laid 
his  hand  on  a  clergyman,  and  an  old 
man,  by  George,  and  hit  me  —  and 
hit  me  in  that  street.  Do  vou  bate 
him,  I  say?  IIoo  !  hoo  !  hick  !  I've 
got  'em  both  !  —  here,  in  my  pocket, 
—  both ! " 

"  You  have  got  —  what  ?  "  gasped 
Caroline. 

"I  have  got  their  —  hallo!  stop, 
what 's  that  to  you  what  I  've  got?  " 
And  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  and 
grins,  and  leers,  and  triumphantly 
tosses  his  glass. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  much  to  me;  I  —  I 
never  got  any  good  out  of  either  of 
'em  yet,"  says  poor  Caroline,  with  a 
sinking  heart.  "  Let 's  talk  about 
somebody  else  than  them  two  plagues. 
Because  you  were  a  little  merry  one 
night, — and  I  don't  mind  what  a 
gentleman  says  when  he  has  had  a 
glass,  —  for  a  great  big  strong  man  to 
hit  an  old  one  — " 

"  To  strike  a  clergyman !  "  veils 
Hunt. 

"It  was  a  shame, — a  cowardly 
shame  !  And  1  gave  it  him  for  it,  I 
promise  you  !  "  criis  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  On  your  honor,  now,  do  you  hate 
'em  ?  "  cries  Hunt,  starting  up,  and 
clenching  his  fist,  and  dropping  again 
into  his  chair. 

"  Have  I  any  reason  to  love  'em, 
Mr.  Hunt?  Do  sit  down  and  have  a 
little—" 

"  No  :  you  have  no  reason  to  like 
'em.  You  hate  'em,  —  I  hate  'em. 
Look  here.  Promise  —  'pon  your 
honor,  now,  Caroline  —  I  've  got  'era 
both,  I  tell  you.  Strike  a  clergy- 
man, will  he  ?  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ? " 

And  starting  from  his  chair  once 
more,  and  sujiporting  himself  against 
the  wall  (where  hung  one  of  J.  J'i 


40O 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


pictures  of  Philip),  Hunt  pulls  out 
the  greasy  pocket-book  once  more, 
and  fumbles  amongst  the  greasy  con- 
tents :  and  as  the  papers  flutter  on  to 
the  floor  and  the  table,  ha  pounces 
down  on  one  with  a  dingy  hand,  and 
yells  a  laugh,  and  says,  "  I  've 
cotched  you !  That 's  it.  What  do 
you  say  to  that  ?  — '  London,  July 
4th.  —  Five  months  after  date,  I  prom- 
ise to  pay  to  — '  No,  you  don't." 

"  La !  Mr.  Hunt,  won't  you  let 
ms  look  at  it  1 "  cries  the  hostess. 
"  Whatever  is  it?  A  billl  My  Pa 
hail  plenty  of  'era." 

"  What  ?  with  candles  in  the  room  ? 
No,  you  don't,  I  say." 

"  What  is  it  ?   Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  young  one's  acceptance 
of  the  old  man's  draft,"  says  Hunt, 
hissing  and  laughing. 

"  For  how  much  ?  " 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six 
four  three,  —  that 's  all ;  and  I  guess 
I  can  get  more  where  that  came 
from  !  "  says  Hunt,  laughing  more 
antl  more  cheerfully. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it  1  I  '11 
buy  it  of  you,"  cries  the  Little  Sister. 
"I  —  I  've  seen  plenty  of  my  Pa's 
bills;  and  I'll  —  I'll  discount  this, 
if  you  like." 

"  What !  are  you  a  little  dis- 
counter ?  Is  that  the  way  you  make 
your  money,  and  the  silver  spoons, 
and  the  nice  supper,  and  everything 
delightful  about  you  ?  A  little  dis- 
countess,  are  you,  — you  little  rogue  1 
Little  discountess,  by  George  !  How 
much  will  you  give,  little  discount- 
ess  ?  "  And  the  reverend  gentleman 
laughs  and  winks,  and  drinks  and 
laughs,  and  tears  twinkle  out  of  his  tip- 
sy old  eyes,  as  he  wipes  them  with  one 
liand,  and  again  says,  "  How  much 
will  you  give,  little  discountess  ?  " 

When  poor  Caroline  went  to  her 
cupboard,  and  from  it  took  the  notes 
and  the  g  )ld  which  she  had  had  we 
know  from  whom,  and  added  to  these 
out  of  a  cunning  box  a  little  heap  of 
her  own  private  savings,  and  with 
trembling  hands  poured  the  notes, 
and  the  sovereigns,  and  the  shillings  j 


into  a  dish  on  the  table,  I  never  heard 
accurately  how  much  she  laid  down. 
But  she  must  have  spread  out  every- 
thing she  had  in  the  world ;  for  she 
felt  her  pockets  and  emptied  them; 
and,  tapping  her  head,  she  again  ap- 
plied to  the  cupboard,  and  took  from 
thence  a  little  store  of  spoons  and 
forks,  and  then  a  brooch,  and  then  a 
watch  ;  and  she  piled  these  all  up  in 
a  dish,  and  she  said,  "  Now,  Mr. 
Hunt,  I  will  give  you  all  these  for 
that  bill."  And  she  looked  up  at 
Philip's  picture,  which  hung  over 
the  parson's  bloodshot,  satyr  face. 
"  Take  these,"  she  said,  "  and  give 
me  that !  There 's  two  hundred 
pound,  I  know  ;  and  there  's  thirty- 
four,  and  two  eighteen,  thirty -six 
eighteen,  and  there 's  the  plate  and 
watch,  and  I  want  that  bill." 

"  What  ?  have  you  got  all  this,  you 
little  dear  ?  "  cried  Hunt,  dropping 
back  into  his  chair  again.  "  Why, 
you  're  a  little  fortune,  by  Jove,  —  a 
pretty  little  fortune,  a  little  discounlr 
ess,  a  little  wife,  a  little  fortune.  I 
say,  I  'm  a  University  man  ;  I  could 
write  alcaics  once  as  well  as  any 
man.  I  'm  a  gentleman.  I  say,  how 
much  have  you  got  1  Count  it  over 
again,  my  dear." 

And  again  she  told  him  the  amount 
of  the  gold,  and  the  notes,  and  the 
silver,  and  the  number  of  the  poor 
little  spoons. 

A  thought  came  across  the  fellow's 
boozy  brain  :  "  If  you  offer  so  much," 
says  he,  "  and  you  're  a  little  discount- 
ess, the  bill  's  worth  more ;  that  fel- 
low must  be  making  his  fortune ! 
Or  do  you  know  about  it  ?  I  say, 
do  you  know  about  it  ?  No.  I  '11 
have  my  bond.  I  '11  have  my  bond ! " 
And  he  gave  a  tipsy  imitation  of 
Shylock,  and  lurched  back  into  his 
chair,  and  laughed. 

"  Let 's  have  a  little  more,  and  talk 
about  things,"  said  the  poor  Little 
Sister ;  and  she  daintily  heaped  her 
little  treasures  and  arranged  them  in 
her  dish,  and  smiled  upon  the  parson 
laughing  in  his  chair. 

"  Caroline,"  says  he,  after  a  pausa, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


401 


■"  jou  are  still  fond  of  that  old  bald- 
headed  scoundrel !  That 's  it !  Just 
like  you  women, — just  like,  but  I 
won't  tell !  No,  no,  I  won't  tell ! 
You  are  fond  of  that  old  swindler 
still,  I  say  !  Wherever  did  you  get 
that  lot  of  money  ?     Look  here  now, 

—  with  that,  and  this  little  bill  in  my 
poeket,  there 's  enough  to  carry  us 
on  for  ever  so  long.  And  when  this 
money 's  gone,  I  tell  you  I  know 
who  'il  give  us  more,  and  who  can't 
refuse  us,  I  tell  you.  Look  here, 
Caroline,  dear  Caroline !  I'  ni  an  old 
fellow,  I  know  ;  but  I  'm  a  good  fellow  : 
I  'm  a  classical  scholar :  and  1  'm  a 
gcntletnan." 

The  classical  scholar  and  gentle- 
man bleared  over  his  words  as  he  ut- 
tered them,  and  with  his  vinous  eyes 
and  sordid  face  gave  a  leer  whiih 
must  have  frightened  the  ]j()or  little 
lady  to  whom  he  proffered  himself  as 
a  suitor,  for  she  started  back  with  a 
pallid  face,  and  an  aspect  of  such  dis- 
like and  terror,  that  even  her  guest 
remarked  it. 

"  I  said  I  was  a  scholar  and  gentle- 
man," he  shrieked  again.  "  Do  you 
doubt  it  ?  I  am  as  good  a  man  as 
Bruromell  Firmin,  I  say.  I  ain't  so 
tall.  But  I  '11  do  a  copy  of  Latin 
alcaics  or  Greek  iambics  against  him 
or  any  man  of  my  weight.  Do  you 
mean  to  insult  me  ?  Don't  I  know 
who  you  are  ?  Are  you  better  than 
a  Master  of  Arts  and  a  clergyman  ? 
He  went  out  in  medicine,  Firmin  did. 
Do  you  mean,  when  a  Master  of  Arts 
and  classical  scholar  offers  you  his 
hand  and  fortune,  that  you  're  above 
him  and  refuse  him,  by  George  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  was  growing  be- 
wildered and  frightened  by  the  man's 
energy  and  horrid  looks.  "  0  Mr.  j 
Hunt ! "  she  cried,  "  see  here,  take 
this  !  See,  —  there  are  two  hundred 
and  thirty  —  thirty-six  pounds  and 
all  these  things  ! "  Take  them,  and 
give  me  that  paper." 

"  Sovereigns,     and      notes,      and  j 
spoons,  and  a  watch,  and  what  I  have 
in  my  pocket,  —  and  that  ain't  much,  I 

—  aud  Firmia's  bill  I    Three  hundred  i 


and  eighty-six  four  three.  It 's  a 
fortune,  my  dear,  with  economy  !  I 
won't  have  you  going  on  being  a 
nurse  and  that  kind  of  thing.  I  'm  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman,  —  I  am,  — 
and  that  jjlace  ain't  fit  for  Mrs.  Hunt. 
We  '11  tirst  spend  your  money.  No  : 
we'll  first  spend  my  money,  —  three 
hundred  and  eighty-six  and  —  and 
bang  the  change, —  and  when  that's 
U.^m^:,  we  '11  have  another  bill  from 
that  luild-headed  old  scoundrel :  aud 

his  son  who  struck  a  poor  cler 

We  will,    I  say,   Caroline,  —  we  —  " 

The  wretch  was  suiting  actions  to 
his  words,  and  rose  once  more,  ad- 
vancing towards  his  hostess,  who 
shrank  back,  laughing  halfhystcri- 
cally,  and  retreating  as  the  other 
ncared  her.  Behind  her  was  that 
cupboard  which  had  contained  her 
poor  little  treasure  and  other  stores, 
and  appended  to  the  lock  of  which 
her  keys  were  still  hanging.  As  the 
brute  approac  hcd  her,  she  flung  back 
the  cupboard  door  smartly  u])on  him. 
The  keys  struck  him  on  the  head  ; 
and  bleeding,  and  with  a  curse  and  a 
cry,  he  fell  back  on  his  chair. 

In  the  cu])l)oard  was  that  bottle 
which  she  had  received  from  America 
not  long  since  ;  and  about  which  she 
had  talked  with  Goodeuough  on  that 
very  day.  It  had  heen  used  twice  or 
thrice  by  his  direction,  by  hospital 
surgeons,  and  under  her  eye.  She 
suildenly  seized  this  bottle.  As  the 
ruffian  "before  her  uttered  his  impre- 
cations of  wrath,  she  poured  out  a 
quantity  of  the  contents  of  the  bottle 
on  her  handkerchief  She  said,  "  Oh  ! 
Mr.  Hunt,  have  I  hurt  you  ?  1  didn't 
mean  it.  But  you  shouldn't — you 
should  n't  frigliten  a  lonely  wonuui 
so!  Here  let  me  bathe  you.  Smell 
this!  It  will  — it  will  do  you  — 
good  —  it  will— it  will,  indeed." 
The  handkerchief  was  over  his  face. 
Bewildered  by  drink  before,  the  fumes 
of  the  liquor  "which  he  was  absorbing 
served  almost  instantly  to  overcome 
him.  He  struggled  for  a  moment  or 
two.  "  Stop  —  stop !  you  '11  be  better 
in  a  moment,"  she  whispered.  "  0  yes  I 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


better,  quite  better !  "  She  squeezed 
more  of  the  liquor  from  the  bottle  on  to 
the  handkerchief.  In  a  minute  Hunt 
was  quite  inanimate. 

Then  the  little  pale  woman  leant 
over  him,  and  took  the  pocket-book 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  from  it  the  bill 
which  bore  Philip's  name.  As  Hunt 
lay  in .  stupor  before  her,  she  now 
squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  over  his 
head ;  and  then  thrust  the  bill  into 
the  fire,  and  saw  it  burn  to  ashes. 
Then  she  put  back  the  pocket-book 
into  Hunt's  breast.  She  said  after- 
wards that  she  never  should  have 
thought  about  that  Chloroform,  but 
for  her  brief  conversation  with  Dr. 
Goodenough  that  evening,  regai-ding 
a  case  in  which  she  had  employed  the 
new  remedy  under  his  orders. 

How  long  did  Hunt  lie  in  that  stu- 
por ?  It  seemed  a  whole  long  night 
to  Caroline.  She  said  afterwards 
that  the  thought  of  that  act  that  night 
made  her  hair  grow  gray.  Poor  lit- 
tle head !  Indeed,  she  would  have 
laid  it  down  for  Philip. 

Hunt,  I  suppose,  came  to  himself 
when  the  handkerchief  was  with- 
drawn, and  the  fumes  of  the  potent 
liquor  ceased  to  work  on  his  brain. 
He  was  very  much  frightened  and 
bewildered.  "  What  was  it  ?  Where 
am  II"  he  asked,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"It  was  the  keys  struck  you  in 
the  cupboard  door  when  you  —  you 
ran  against  it,"  said  pale  Caroline. 
"  Look !  you  are  all  bleeding  on  the 
head.     Let  me  dry  it." 

"  No ;  keep  off !  "  cried  the  terrified 
man. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cab  to  go  home  1 
The  poor  gentleman  hit  himself 
against  the  cupboard  door,  Mary. 
You  remember  him  here  before,  don't 
you,  one  night  ?  "  And  Caroline, 
with  a  shrug,  pointed  out  to  her 
maid,  whom  she  had  summoned,  the 
great  square  bottle  of  spirits  still  on 
the  table,  and  indicated  that  there  lay 
the  cause  of  Hunt's  bewilderment. 

"  Are  you  better  now  ?  Will  you 
—  will  you  —  take  a  little  more  re- 
freshment ?  "  asked  Caroline. 


"  No  ! "  he  cried  with  an  oath,  and 
with  glaring,  bloodshot  eyes  he 
lurched  towards  his  hat. 

"  Lor',  mum  !  whatever  is  it  ? 
And  this  smell  in  the  room,  and  all 
this  here  heap  of  money  and  things 
on  the  tabled' 

Caroline  flung  open  her  window. 
"  It  's  medicine,  which  Dr.  Groode- 
nough  has  ordered  for  one  of  his  pa- 
tients. I  must  go  and  see  her  to- 
night," she  said.  And  at  midnight, 
looking  as  pale  as  death,  the  Litile 
Sister  went  to  the  Doctor's  house, 
and  roused  him  up  from  his  bed,  and 
told  him  the  story  here  narrated.  "  I 
offered  him  all  you  gave  me,"  she 
said,  "  and  all  I  had  in  the  world  be- 
sides, and  he  would  n't  —  and  — " 
Here  she  broke  into  a  fit  of  hysterics. 
The  Doctor  had  to  ring  up  his  ser- 
vants ;  to  administer  remedies  to  his 
little  nurse  ;  to  put  her  to  bed  in  his 
own  house. 

"  By  the  immortal  Jove,"  he  said 
afterwards,  "  I  had  a  great  mind  to 
beg  her  never  to  leave  it !  But  that 
my  housekeeper  would  tear  Caroline's 
eyes  out,  Mrs.  Brandon  should  be 
welcome  to  stay  forever.  Except  her 
h's,  that  woman  has  every  virtue  : 
constancy,  gentleness,  generosity, 
cheerfulness,  and  the  courage  of  a 
lioness  !  To  think  of  that  fool,  that 
dandified  idiot,  that  triple  ass,  Fir- 
min "  (there  were  few  men  in  the 
world  for  whom  Goodenough  enter- 
tained a  greater  scorn  than  for  his  lata 
confrere,  Firmin  of  Old  Parr  Street), 
—  ■'  think  of  the  villain  having  pos- 
sessed such  a  treasure,  — let  alone  his 
having  deceived  and  deserted  her,  — 
of  his  having  possessed  such  a  treas- 
ure and  flung  it  away !  Sir,  I  always 
admired  Mrs.  Brandon  ;  but  I  think 
ten  thousand  times  more  highly  of 
her,  since  her  glorious  crime,  and 
most  righteous  robbery.  If  the  vil- 
lain had  died,  dropped  dead  in  the 
street,  —  the  drunken  miscreant,  for- 
ger, housebreaker,  assassin,  —  so  that 
no  punishment  could  have  fallen  upon 
poor  Brandon,  I  think  I  should  have 
respected  her  only  the  more !  " 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


403 


At  an  early  hour  Dr.  Gootlenough 
fiad  thought  proper  to  send  off  mes- 
sengers to  Philip  and  myself,  and  to 
make  us  acquainted  with  the  straufre 
adventure  of  the  previous  night.  We 
both  hastened  to  him.  I  myself  was 
summoned,  no  doubt,  in  consef|uence 
of  my  profound  legal  knowledge, 
which  might  be  of  use  in  j;oor  lit- 
tle Caroline's  present  trouhle.  And 
Philip  came  because  she  longed  to  see 
him.  By  some  instinct  she  knew 
when  he  arrived.  She  crejit  down 
from  the  chamber  where  the  Doctor's 
housekeeper  had  laid  her  on  a  bed. 
She  knocked  at  the  Doctor's  study, 
where  we  were  all  in  consultation. 
She  came  in  quite  pale,  and  tottered 
towards  Philip,  and  flung  herself  into 
his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears  that 
greatly  relieved  her  excitement  and 
fever.  Firmin  was  scarcely  less 
moved. 

"  Yoa  'II  pardon  me  for  what  I  have 
done,  Philip,"  she  sobbed.  "  If  they, 
—  if  they  take  me  up,  you  won't  for- 
sake me  ?  " 

"  Forsake  you  ?  Pardon  you  ? 
Come  and  live  with  us,  and  never 
leave  iis !  "  cried  Philip. 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Philip  would 
like  that,  dear,"  said  the  little  woman 
gobbing  on  his  arm  ;  "  but  ever  since 
the  Grey  friars  school,  when  you  was 
so  ill,  you  have  been  like  a  son  to  me, 
and  somehow  I  could  n't  help  doing 
that  last  night  to  that  villain, —  I 
could  n't. 

"  Serve  the  scoundrel  right  Nev- 
er deserved  to  come  to  life  again,  my 
dear,"  said  Dr.  Goodenough.  "  Don't 
you  be  exciting  yourself,  little  Bran- 
don !  I  must  have  you  sent  back  to 
lie  down  on  your  bed.  Take  her  up, 
Philip,  to  the  little  room  next  mim ;  and 
order  her  to  lie  down  and  be  as  quiet 
as  a  mouse.  You  are  not  to  move  till  I 
give  you  leave,  Brandon, —  mind  that, 
and  come  back  to  us,  Firmin,  or  we 
shall  have  the  patients  coming." 

So  Philip  led  away  this  poor  Little 
Sister;  and  trembling,  and  clinging 
to  his  arm,  she  returned  to  the  room 
assigned  to  her. 


"  She  wants  to  be  alone  with  him," 
the  Doctor  said  ;  and  he  spoke  a  brief 
word  or  two  of  that  strange  delusion 
under  which  the  little  woman  labored, 
that  this  was  her  dead  child  come  back 
to  her. 

"  I  know  that  is  in  her  mind,"  Good- 
enough  said  ;  "  she  never  got  over  that 
brain  fever  in  which  I  found  her.  If  I 
were  to  swear  her  on  the  book,  and 
say,  'Brandon,  don't  you  believe  he 
is  your  son  alive  again  '! '  she  would 
not  dare  to  say  no.  She  will  leave 
him  everything  she  has  got.  I  only 
gave  her  so  much  less  than  that  scoun- 
drel's bill  yesterday,  because  I  knew 
she  would  like  to  contribute  her  own 
share.  It  would  have  offended  her 
mortally  to  have  been  left  out  of  the 
subscription.  They  like  to  sacrifice 
themselves.  Why,  there  are  women 
in  India  who,  if  not  allowed  to  roast 
with  their  dead  husbands,  would  die 
of  vexation."  And  by  this  time  Mr. 
Philip  came  striding  back  into  the 
room  again,  rubbing  a  pair  of  very 
red  eyes.- 

"  Long  ere  this,  no  doubt,  that 
drunken  ruffian  is  sobered,  and  knows 
that  the  bill  is  gone.  He  is  likely 
enough  to  accuse  her  of  the  robber^-," 
says  the  Doctor. 

""  Suppose,"  says  Philip's  other 
friend,  "  I  had  put  a  pistol  to  your 
head,  and  was  going  to  shoot  you, 
and  the  Doctor  took  the  pistol  out 
of  my  hand,  and  flung  it  into  the 
sea,  would  you  help  me  to  prosecute 
the  Doctor  "for  robbing  me  of  the  pis- 
tol ? " 

"  You  don't  suppose  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  mc  to  pay  that  bill?" 
said  Philip.  "  I  said,  if  a  certain  bill 
were  presented  to  me,  purporting  to 
be  accepted  by  Philip  Firmin,  I  Avould 
pay  it.  But'if  that  .scoundrel,  Hunt, 
only  say.i  that  he  had  such  a  bill,  and 
has  lost  it,  I  will  cheerfully  take  my 
oath  that  I  have  never  signed  any  bill 
at  all,—  and  they  can't  find  Brandon 
guilty  of  stealing  a  thing  which  never 
existed." 

"Let  us  hope,  then,  that  the  bill 
was  not  in  duplicate  !  " 


404 


THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  PHILIP. 


And  to  this  wish  all  three  gentle- 
men heartily  said  Amen ! 

And  now  the  Doctor's  door-bell  be- 
pan  to  be  agitated  by  arriving  patients. 
His  dining-room  was  alreafly  full  of 
them.  The  Little  Sister  must  lie  still, 
and  the  discussion  of  her  affiiirs  must 
be  deferred  to  a  more  convenient  hour  ; 
and  Philip  and  his  friend  agreed  to 
reconnoitre  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  and  see  if  anything  had  hap- 
pened since  its  mistress  had  left 
it. 

Yes :  something  had  happened. 
Mrs.  Brandon's  maid,  who  ushered 
us  into  her  mistress's  little  room,  told 
us  that  in  the  early  morning  that  hor- 
rible man  who  had  come  overnight, 
and  been  so  tipsy,  and  behaved  so  ill, 
—  the  very  same  man  who  had  come 
there  tipsy  afore  once,  and  whom  Mr. 
Philip  had  flung  into  the  street, —  had 
come  battering  at  the  knocker,  and 
pulling  at  the  bell,  and  swearing  and 
cursing  most  dreadful,  and  calling 
for  "  Mrs.  Brandon  !  Mrs.  Brandon  1 
Mrs.  Brandon ! "  and  frightening  the 
■whole  street.  After  he  had  rung,  he 
knocked  and  battered  ever  so  long. 
Mary  looked  out  at  him  from  her  up- 
per window,  and  told  him  to  go  along 
home,  or  she  would  call  the  police. 
On  this  the  man  roared  out  that  he 
would  call  the  police  himself  if  Mary 
did  not  let  him  in  ;  and  as  he  went  on 
calling  "  Police  !  "  and  yelling  from 
the  door,  Mary  came  down  stairs,  and 
opened  the  hall  door,  keeping  the 
chain  fastened,  and  asked  him  what 
he  wanted  1 

Hunt,  from  the  steps  without,  be- 
gan to  swear  and  rage  more  loudly, 
and  to  demand  to  be  let  in.  He  must 
and  would  see  Mrs.  Brandon. 

Mary,  from  behind  her  chain  bar- 
ricade, said  that  her  mistress  was  not 
at  home,  hut  that  she  had  been  called 
out  that  night  to  a  patient  of  Dr. 
Goodenough's. 

Hunt,  with  more  shrieks  and  curses, 
said  it  was  a  lie  :  and  that  she  was  at 
home ;  and  that  he  would  see  her ; 
and  that  he  must  go  into  her  room ; 
and  that  he  had  left  something  there ; 


that  he  bad  lost  something  ;  and  that 
he  would  have  it. 

"Lost  something  nere"?  '  cried 
Mary.  "  Why  here  ?  when  you 
reeled  out  of  this  house,  you  could  n't 
scarce  walk,  and  you  almost  fell  into 
the  gutter,  which  I  have  seen  you 
there  before.  Get  away,  and  go 
home  !  You  are  not  sober  yet,  you 
horrible  man  ! " 

On  this,  clinging  on  to  the  area- 
railings,  and  demeaning  himself  like 
a  madman.  Hunt  continued  to  call 
out,  "  Police,  police  !  I  have  been 
robbed,  I  've  been  robbed !  Police  !  " 
until  astonished  heads  appeared  at 
various  windows  in  the  quiet  street, 
and  a  policeman  actually  came  up. 

When  the  policeman  appeared. 
Hunt  began  to  sway  and  pull  at  the 
door,  confined  by  its  chain  :  and  he 
frantically  reiterated  his  charge,  that  he 
had  been  robbed  and  hocussed  in  that 
house,  that  night,  by  Mrs.  Brandon. 

The  policeman,  by  a  familiar  ex- 
pression, conveyed  his  utter  disbelief 
of  the  statement,  and  told  the  dirty, 
disreputable  man  to  move  on,  and  go 
to  bed.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  known 
and  respected  all  round  the  neighbor- 
hood. She  had  befriended  numerous 
poor  round  about;  and  was  known 
for  a  hundred  charities.  She  attend- 
ed many  respectable  families.  In 
that  parish  there  was  no  woman  more 
esteemed.  And  by  the  word  "  Gam- 
mon," the  policeman  expressed  his 
sense  of  the  utter  absurdity  of  the 
charge  against  the  good  lady. 

Hunt  still  continued  to  yell  out 
that  he  had  been  robbed  .and  hocussed  ; 
and  Mary  from  behind  her  door  re- 
peated to  the  officer  (with  whom  she 
perhaps  had  relations  not  unfriendly) 
her  statement  that  the  beast  had  gone 
reeling  away  from  the  house  the  night 
before,  and  if  he  had  lost  anything, 
who  knows  where  he  might  not  have 
lost  it  ? 

"  It  was  taken  out  of  this  pocket, 
and  out  of  this  pocket-book,"  howled 
Hunt,  clinging  to  the  rail.  "  I  give 
her  in  charge.  I  give  the  house  in 
charge !    It 's  a  den  of  thieves  ! " 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP, 


405 


During  this  shoiitirifi:  and  turmoil, 
the  Siisii  of  a  window  in  Ridley's  stu- 
dio was  tlirown  up.  The  painter  was 
goinic  to  liis  inorniuf,''  work.  He  liad 
appointed  an  early  model.  The  sun 
could  not  rise  too  soon  for  Hidley  ; 
and  a.s  soon  as  ever  it  gave  its  light 
found  him  happy  at  his  hibor.  lie 
had  heard  from  his  hcdroom  tlic 
hrawl  going  on  ahout  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Ridley  !  "  says  tlie  policeman, 
touching  the  glazed  hat  with  nnich 
respect  (in  fact,  and  out  of  uniform, 
Z  2.5  has  figured  in  more  than  one  of 
J.  J.'  s  pictures),  —  "  Here  's  a  fellow 
disturbing  the  whole  street,  and 
shouting  out  that  Mis.  Brandon  have 
robbed  and  hocussed  him  !  " 

Ridley  ran  down  stairs  in  a  high 
state  of  indignation.  He  is  nervous, 
like  men  of  his  tribe ;  quick  to  feel, 
to  pity,  to  love,  to  be  angry.  He  un- 
did the  chain,  and  ran  into  the  street. 

"  I  remember  that  fellow  drunk 
here  before,"  said  the  painter ;  "  and 
lying  in  that  very  gutter." 

"  Drunk  and  disorderly  !  Come 
along  !  "  cries  Z  25  ;  and  his  hand 
was  quickly  fastened  on  the  parson's 
greasy  collar,  and  under  its  strong 
grasp  Hunt  is  forced  to  move  on. 
He  goes,  still  yelling  out  that  he  has 
been  robbed. 

"  Tell  that  to  his  Worship,"  says 
the  incredulous  Z.  And  this  was  the 
news  which  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends 
deceived  from  her  maid,  when  they 
tailed  at  her  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IN    WHICH    SEVERAL    PEOPLE     HAVE 
THEIR   TRIALS. 

If  Philip  and  his  friend  had 
happened  to  pass  through  High 
Street,  Marylebonc,  on  their  way  to 
Thornhaugh  Street  to  reconnoitre 
the  Little  SLster's  house,  they  would 
have  seen  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hunt,  in 
a  very  dirty,  battered,  crestfallen  and 
unsatisfactory  state,  marching  to 
Maryleboue  from  the  station,  where 


the  reverend  gentleman  had  passed 
the  night,  au(i  under  the  custody  of 
the  police.  A  convoy  of  street  boys 
followed  the  prisoner  and  liis  guard, 
making  sarcastic  remarks  on  both. 
Hunt's  ajjpearance  was  not  improved 
since  we  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him  on  the  previous  evening.  With 
a  grizzled  beard  and  hair,  a  dingy 
face,  a  dingy  shirt,  and  a  countenance 
mottled  with  dirt  and  drink,  we  may 
fancy  the  reverend  man  passing  in 
tattered  raiment  through  the  street 
to  make  his  appearance  before  the 
magistrate. 

You  have  no  doubt  forgotten  the 
narrative  which  ajjjjeared  in  the 
morning-  papers  two  days  after  the 
Thornhaugli  Street  incident,  but  my 
clerk  has  been  at  the  pains  to  hunt 
up  and  copy  the  police  report,  in 
which  events  connected  with  our  his- 
tory are  briefly  recorded. 

"  Marylehone,  Wfdnesditji .  — 
Thomas  Tufton  Hunt,  professing  to 
be  a  clergyman,  but  wearing  an  ap- 
pearance of  extreme  squalor,  was 
brought  before  Mr.  Bcaksby  at  this 
office,  charged  by  Z  t;5  with  being 
drunk  and  very  disorderly  on  Tuesday 
se'nnight,  and  endeavoring  by  force 
and  threats  to  effect  his  re-entiance 
into  a  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street, 
from  which  he  had  been  jjreviously 
ejected  in  a  most  unclerical  and  in- 
ebriated state. 

"  On  being  taken  to  the  station- 
house,  the  reverend  gentleman  lodged 
a  comjilaint  on  his  own  side,  and 
averred  that  he  had  been  stupefied  and 
hocussed  in  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street  by  means  of  some  drug,  and 
that,  whilst  in  this  state,  he  had  been 
robbed  of  a  bill  for  .£38f>  4  s.  .3r/., 
drawn  by  a  person  in  New  York,  and 
accepted  by  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  barrister, 
of  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple. 

"Mrs.  Brandon,  the  landlady  of 
the  house.  No. —  Thornhaugh  Street, 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  letting  lodg- 
ings for  many  years  past,  and  several 
of  her  friends,  i'neliuling  Mr.  Firmin, 
Mr.  Ridley,  the  Rl.  Acad.,  and  other 
gentlemen,   were    in    attendance    t» 


406 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


speak  to  her  character,  which  is  most 
respectable.  After  Z  25  had  given 
evidence,  the  servant  deposed  that 
Hunt  had  been  more  than  once  disor- 
derly and  drunk  before  that  house, 
and  had  been  forcibly  ejected  from  it. 
On  the  night  when  the  alleged  rob- 1 
bery  was  said  to  have  taken  place,  he 
had  visited  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  had  left  it  in  an  inebriated 
state,  and  returned  some  hours  after- 
wards, vowing  that  he  had  been 
robbed  of  the  document  in  question. 

"  Mr.  P.  Firmin  said  ;  '  I  am  a 
barrister,  and  have  chambers  at  Parch- 
ment Buildings,  Temple,  and  know 
the  person  calling  himself  Hunt.  I 
have  not  accepted  any  bill  of  ex- 
change, nor  is  my  signature  affixed 
to  any  such  document.' 

"  At  this  stage  the  worthy  magis- 
trate interposed,  and  said  that  this 
only  went  to  prove  that  the  bill  was 
not  completed  by  Mr.  F.'s  acceptance, 
and  would  by  no  means  conclude  the 
case  set  up  before  him.  Dealing  with 
it,  however,  on  the  merits,  and  look- 
ing at  the  way  in  which  the  charge 
had  been  preferred,  and  the  entire  ab- 
sence of  suffiiient  testimony  to  warrant 
him  in  deciding  that  even  a  piece  of 
paper  had  been  abstracted  in  that 
house,  or  by  the  person  accused,  and 
believing  that  if  he  were  to  commit,  a 
conviction  would  be  impossible,  he 
dismissed  the  charge. 

"  The  lady  left  the  court  with  her 
friends,  and  the  accuser,  when  called 
upon  to  pay  a  fine  for  drunkenness, 
broke  out  into  very  unclerical  lan- 
guage, in  the  midst  of  which  he  was 
forcibly  removed." 

Philip  Firmin's  statement,  that  he 
had  given  no  bill  of  exchange,  was 
made  not  without  hesitation  on  his 
part,  and  indeed  at  his  friends'  strong 
entreaty.  It  was  addressed  not  so 
much  to  the  sitting  magistrate,  as 
to  that  elderly  individual  at  New 
York,  who  was  warned  no  more  to 
forge  his  son's  name.  I  fear  a  cool- 
ness ensued  between  Philip  and  his 
parent  in  consequence  of  the  younger 
man's  behavior.      The   Doctor  had 


thought  better  of  his  boy  than  to 
suppose  that,  at  a  moment  of  necessity, 
Philip  would  desert  him.  He  for- 
gave Philip,  nevertheless.  Perhaps 
since  his  maiTiage  other  influences 
were  at  work  upon  him,  &c  The 
parent  made  further  remarks  in  this 
strain.  A  man  who  takes  your 
money  is  naturally  otlended  if  you 
remonstrate  ;  you  wound  his  sense 
of  delicacy  by  protesting  against  his 
putting  his  hand  in  your  pocket. 
The  elegant  doctor  in  New  York  con- 
tinued to  speak  of  his  unhappy  son 
with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head  ; 
he  said,  perhaps  believed,  that  Philip's 
imprudence  was  in  part  the  cause  of 
his  own  exile.  "  This  is  not  the 
kind  of  entertainment,  to  which  I 
would  have  invited  you  at  my  own 
house  in  England,"  he  would  say. 
"  I  thought  to  have  ended  my  days 
there,  and  to  have  left  my  son  in  com- 
fort, —  nay,  splendor.  I  am  an  ex- 
ile in  poverty  :  and  he  —  but  I  will 
use  no  hard  words."  And  to  his 
female  patients  he  would  say :  "  No, 
my  dear  madam  !  —  not  a  syllable  of 
reproach  shall  escape  these  lips  regard- 
ing that  misguided  boy  !  But  you 
can  feel  for  me  ;  I  know  you  can  feel 
for  me."  In  the  old  days,  a  high- 
spirited  highwayman,  who  took  a 
coach-passenger's  purse,  thought 
himself  injured,  and  the  traveller  a 
shabby  fellow,  if  he  secreted  a  guinea 
or  two  under  the  cushions.  In  the 
Doctor's  now  rare  letters,  he  breathed 
a  manly  sigh  here  and  there,  to  think 
that  he  had  lost  the  confidence  of  his 
boy.  I  do  believe  that  certain  ladies 
of  our  acquaintance  were  inclined  to 
think  that  the  elder  Firmin  had  been 
not  altogether  well  used,  however 
much  they  loved  and  admired  the 
Little  Sister  for  her  lawless  act  in  her 
boy's  defence.  But  this  main  point 
we  had  won.  The  Doctor  at  New 
York  took  the  warning,  and  wrote  his 
son's  signature  upon  no  more  bills  of 
exchange.  The  good  Goodenough's 
loan  was  canned  back  to  him  in  the 
very  coin  which  he  had  supplied. 
He  said  that  his  little  nurse  Brandon 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


407 


was  splendide  mendax,  and  that  her 
robbery  was  a  sublime  and  coinageous 
act  of  war. 

In  so  far,  since  his  marriage,  Mr. 
Philip  had  been  pretty  fortunate.  At 
need,  friends  had  come  to  him.  In 
moments  of  peril  he  had  had  succor  and 
relief.  Though  he  had  married  with- 
out money,  fate  had  sent  him  a  suf- 
ficiency. His  flask  had  never  been 
empty,  and  there  was  always  meal  in 
his  bin.  But  now  hard  trials  were  in 
store  for  him  :  hard  trials  which  we 
have  said  were  endurable,  and  which 
he  has  long  since  lived  through.  Any 
man  who  has  played  the  game  of  life 
or  whist  knows  how  for  one  while  he 
will  have  a  series  of  good  cards  dealt 
him,  and  again  will  get  no  trumps  at 
all.  After  he  got  into  his  house  in 
Milman  Street  and  quitted  the  Lit- 
tle Sister's  kind  roof,  our  friend's 
good  fortune  seemed  to  desert  him. 
"  Perhaps  it  was  a  punishment  for 
my  pride,  because  1  was  haughty 
with  her,  and  —  and  jealous  of  that 
dear  good  little  creature,"  poor  Char- 
lotte afterwards  owned  in  conversation 
with  other  friends,  —  "  but  our  for- 
tune seemed  to  change  when  we  were 
away  from  her,  and  that  I  must 
own." 

Perhaps,  when  she  was  yet  under 
Mrs.  Brandon's  roof,  the  Little  Sis- 
ter's provident  care  had  done  a  great 
deal  more  for  Charlotte  than  Char- 
lotte knew.  Mrs.  Philip  had  the 
most  simple  tastes  in  the  world,  and 
upon  herself  never  spent  an  unneces- 
sary shilling.  Indeed,  it  was  a  won- 
der, considering  her  small  expenses, 
how  neat  and  nice  Mrs.  Philip  ever 
looked.  But  she  never  could  deny 
herself  when  the  children  were  in 
question  ;  and  had  them  arrayed  in 
all  sorts  of  line  clothes  ;  and  stitched 
and  hemmed  all  day  and  night  to 
decorate  their  little  persons  ;  and  in 
reply  to  the  remonstrances  of  the 
matrons  her  friends,  showed  how  it 
was  impossible  children  could  be 
dressed  for  less  cost.  If  anything 
ailed  them,  quick,  the  doctor  must  be 
sent  for.    Not  worthy   Goodenough, 


who  came  without  a  fee,  and  pooh- 
j)oohcd  her  alarms  and  anxieties  ; 
but  dear  Mr.  Bland,  who  bad  a  feel- 
ing heart,  and  was  himself  a  father 
of  children,  and  wlio  siqiported  those 
children  by  the  produce  of  the  pills, 
draughts,  powders,  visits,  which  he 
bestowed  on  all  families  into  whose 
doors  he  entered.  Bland's  sympa- 
thy was  very  consolatory  ;  but  it  was 
found  to  be  very  costly  at  the  end 
of  the  year.  "  And,  what  then  1  "  says 
Charlotte,  with  kindling  cheeks.  "  l3o 
you  suppose  we  should  grudge  that 
money,  which  was  to  give  health  to 
our  dearest,  dearest  babies  ?  No. 
You  can't  have  such  a  bad  opinion 
of  me  as  that !  "  And  accordingly 
Mr.  Bland  received  a  nice  little  an- 
nuity from  our  friends.  Philip  had  a 
joke  about  his  wife's  housekeeping 
which  perhaps  may  apply  to  other 
young  women  who  are  kept  by  over- 
watchful  mothers  too  much  in  statu 
pupillari.  When  they  were  married, 
or  about  to  be  married,  Philip  asked 
Charlotte  what  she  would  order  for 
dinner  ?  She  ])romptly  said  she 
would  order  leg  of  mutton.  "  And 
after  leg  of  niution  ?  "  "  Leg  of 
beef,  to  be  sure  !  "  says  Mrs.  Char- 
lotte, looking  very  pleased,  and  know- 
ing. And  the  fact  is,  as  this  little 
housekeeper  was  obliged  denmrely  to 
admit,  their  household  bills  increased 
prodigiouslij ai'ter  they  left  Thornhaugh 
Street.  "  And  I  can't  understand, 
my  dear,  how  the  grocer's  book  should 
mount  up  so  ;  and  the  butter-man's, 
and  the  beer,"  &c.,  &c.  We  have 
often  seen  the  pretty  little  head  bent 
over  the  dingy  volumes,  puzzling, 
puzzling  :  and  the  eldest  child  would 
hold  up  a  warning  finger  to  ours, 
and  tell  them  to  be  very  quiet,  as 
mamma  was  at  her  "  atouuts." 

And  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  money 
became  scarce  for  the  payment  of 
these  accounts ;  and  though  Philip 
fancied  he  hid  his  anxieties  from  his 
wife,  be  sure  she  loved  him  too  much 
to  be  deceived  by  one  of  the  clumsiest 
hypocrites  in  the  world.  Only,  being 
a  much  cleverer  hypocrite  than  her 


408 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


husband,  she  pretended  to  be  deceived, 
and  acted  her  part  so  well  that  poor 
Philip  was  mortiried  with  her  gayety, 
and  chose  to  fancy  his  wife  was  in- 
different to  their  misfortunes.      She 
ought  not  to  be  so  smiling  and  happy, 
he  thought ;  and,  as  usual,  bemoaned 
his    lot    to    his     friends.      "  I  come 
home  racked   with   care,  and  think- 
ing of  those  inevitable  bills  ;  I  shud- 
der, sir,  at  every  note  that  lies  on  the 
hall  table,  and  would  tremble  as   I 
dashed  them  open  as  they  do  on  the 
stage.      But  I  laugh  and  put  on  a 
jaunty  air,  and  humbug  Char.     And 
I  hear  her  singing  about  the  house 
and   laughing  and   cooing   with  the 
children,  by  Jove.     She  's  not  aware 
of  anything.     She  docs  not  know  how 
dreadfully  the  res  domi  is  squeezing 
me.     But  before  marriai/e  she  did,  1 
tell  you.     Then,  if  anything  annoyed 
me,  she  divined  it.     If  I  felt  ever  so 
little  unwell,  you  should  have  seen  the 
alarm  on  her  face  !     It  was,  '  Philip 
dear,  how  pale  you  are  ' ;  or,  '  Philip, 
how   flushed    you  arc ' ;    or,   'I  am 
sure  you  have  had  a  letter  from  your 
father.      Why  do  you  conceal  any- 
thing from    me,    sir  ?      You    never 
should,  —  never  !  '     And  now  when 
the  fox  is  gnawing  at  my  side  under 
my  cloak,  I  laugh  and  grin  so  natu- 
rally that  slie  believes  I  am  all  riglit, 
and  she  comes  to  meet  me  flouncing 
the  children  about  in  my  face,  and 
wearing  an  air  of  consummate  hap- 
piness !      I    would   not   deceive    her 
for  the  world,  you  know.     But  it 's 
mortifying.       Don't     tell    me !       It 
is   mortifying    to  be    tossing    awake 
all   night,  and  racked  with  care  all 
day,  and  have  the  wife  of  your  bosom 
chattering  and  singing  and  laughing, 
as  if  there  were  no  cares,"  or  doubts, 
or  duns  in  the  world.     If  I  had  the 
gout  and  she  were  to  laugh  and  sing, 
I  should  not  call  that  sympathy.      If 
I  were  arrested  for  debt,  and  she  were 
to  come  grinning   and  laughing   to 
the  sponging-house,  I  should  not  call 
that  consolation.     Why  docs  n't  she 
fe^l  1     She  ought  to  fee^.      There  's 
Betsy,  our  parlor-maif^.     There 's  the 


old   fellow  who  comes  to  clean  the 
boots  and  knives.     They  know  how 
hard  up  1  am.      And   my  wife  sings 
and  dances  whilst  I  am  on  the  verge 
of  ruin,  by  Jove ;    and    giggles   and 
laughs  as  if  life  was  a  pantomime!  " 
Then   the  man   and  woman    into 
whose  ears  poor  Philip  roared  out  his 
confessions   and   griefs   hung    down 
:  their  blushing  heads  in  humbled  si- 
'  lence.      They  are  tolerably  prosper- 
ous in  life,  and,  I  fear,  are  pretty  well 
satisfied    with  themselves   and   each 
other.     A  woman  who  scarcely  ever 
does  any  wrong,  and  rules  and  gov- 
erns her  own  house  and  family  as  my 
,  as  the  wife  of  the  reader's  hum- 
ble servant  most  notoriously  does,  of- 
ten becomes  —  must  it   be  said  ?  — 
too  certain  of  her  own  virtue,  and  is 
too  sure  of  the  correctness  of  her  own 
opinion.     We   virtuous   people  give 
advice  a  good  deal,  and  set  a  consid- 
erable value  upon  that   advice.     We 
meet  a  certain  man  who   has   fallen 
among  thieves,  let  us  say.      We  suc- 
cor   him   readily  enough.     We  take 
him  kindly  to  the  inn,  and  pay  his 
score  there ;  but  we  say  to  the  land- 
lord, "  You  must  give  this  poor  man 
his  bed  ;  his  medicine  at  such  a  time, 
and  his  broth  at  such  another.     But, 
mind  you,  he  must  have  that  physic, 
and  no  other ;  that   broth   when  we 
order  it.      We  take  his  case  in  hand, 
you  understand.     Don't  listen  to  him 
or  anybody  else.     We  know  all  about 
everything.      Good  by.       Take  care 
of  him.     Mind  the  medicine  and  the 
broth  !  "  and  Mr.  Benefactor  or  Lady 
Bountiful   goes  away,  perfectly  self- 
satisfied. 

Do  you  take  this  allegory  1  When 
Philip  complained  to  us  of  his  wife's 
friskincss  and  gayety ;  when  he  bit- 
terly contrasted  her  levity  and  care- 
lessness with  his  own  despondency 
and  doubt,  Charlotte's  two  principal 
friends  were  smitten  by  shame.  ''  O 
Philip  !  dear  Philip  !  "  his  female  ad- 
viser said  (having  looked  at  her  hus- 
band once  or  twice  as  Firmin  spoke, 
and  in  vain  endeavored  to  keep  her 
guilty    eyes    down    on    her    work), 


THE   ADVEXTLI.KS    O:-    PHILIP. 


409 


"  Charlotte  has  done  this,  because 
she  is  humble,  and  because  she  takes 
the  advice  of  friends  who  are  not. 
She  knows  everytliinj^,  and  more  tliaii 
everytliing  ;  for  her  dear  tender  lieart 
is  filled  with  apprehension.  But  we 
told  her  to  show  no  sign  ot  care,  lest 
lier  husband  should  be  disturbed. 
And  she  trusted  in  us  ;  and  she  puts 
her  trust  elsewhere,  Philip  ;  and  she 
has  hidden  her  own  anxieties,  lest 
yours  should  be  increased  ;  and  has 
met  you  gayly  when  her  heart 
was  full  of  dread.  We  think  she  has 
done  wrong  now  ;  but  she  did  so  be- 
cause she  was  so  simple,  and  trusted 
in  us  who  advised  her  wrongly.  Kow 
we  see  that  there  ought  to  have  been 
perfect  confidence  always  between 
you,  and  tiiat  it  is  her  simplicit}'  and 
faith  in  us  which  have  misled  her." 

Philip  hung  down  his  head  for  a 
moment,  and  hid  his  eyes ;  and  we 
knew,  during  that  minute  when  his 
face  was  concealed  from  us,  how  his 
grateful  heart  was  employed. 

"And  you  know,  dfcar  Philip — " 
says  Laura,  looking  at  her  hn>band, 
and  nodding  to  that  person,  who  cer- 
tainly understood  the  hint. 

"  And  I  say,  Firrain,"  breaks  in 
the  lady's  husband,  "  you  undei  stand, 
if  you  are  at  all  —  that  is,  if  you  — 
that  is,  if  we  can  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  shouts  Fir- 
min,  with  a  face  beaming  over  with 
happiness.  "I  know  what  you  mean. 
You  beggar,  you  are  going  to  offer 
me  money  !  I  see  it  in  your  fiice ', 
bless  you  both  !  But  we  '11  try  and 
do  without,  please  Heaven.  And  — 
and  it 's  worth  feeling  a  pinch  of  pov- 
erty to  find  such  friends  as  I  have 
had,  and  to  share  it  with  such  a  — 
dash  —  dear  little  thing  as  I  have  at 
home.  And  I  won't  try  and  humbug 
Char  any  more.  I  'm  bad  at  that 
sort  of  business.  And  good  night, 
and  I  '11  never  forget  your  kindness, 
never !  "  And  he  is  off  a  moment  af- 
terwards, and  jumping  down  the  steps 
of  our  door,  and  so  into  the  park. 
And  though  there  were  not  five 
pounds  in  the  poor  little  house  in 
18 


^liluian  Street,  tlicre  were  not  two 
liajipicr  ]K'oplc  in  l.ouddu  that  nij;lit 
tluiu  Ciiark)tte  and  Philip  Firniin. 
If  he  luid  his  trouliles,  our  Iriiiid  hud 
liis  iunncuse  consolations.  Fortu- 
nate he,  however  jxjor,  who  has 
friends  to  help,  and  love  to  console 
him  in  liis  trials. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN     WHICH    THE     LUCK     GOES     VERY 
MUCH  AGAINST  IIS. 

Every  num  and  woman  amongst 
us  has  made  his  voyage  to  l.ilijiut, 
and  his  tour  in  the  kin;;dom  ol'  Biob- 
dingnag.  When  I  ^o  to  my  native 
country  town,  the  local  jiajicr  an- 
nounces our  arrival  ;  the  lal  oicrs 
touch  their  liats,  as  the  ];ony-chaisc 
j)asses,  the  girls  and  old  women  drop 
courtesies  ;  Mr.  Iliiks,  the  groter  and 
hatter,  conies  to  his  door  and  makes 
a  bow,  and  smirks  and  smiles.  When 
our  neighbor  Sir  John  arrives  at  the 
hall,  he  is  a  still  greater  personajze ; 
the  bell-ringers  greet  the  hall  family 
with  a  peal  ;  the  rector  walks  over  on 
an  earlj'  day.  and  jiays  his  visit ;  and 
the  faimers  at  market  jircss  round  for 
a  nod  of  recognition.  Sir  John  at 
home  is  in  Lili]iut :  in  Bclgrave 
Square  he  is  in  Brobdiugnag,  where 
almost  evcryl'Ody  we  meet  is  i  vcr  so 
much  taller  than  ourselves.  "  AVhich 
do  you  like  liest,  to  be  a  j;iaut  amongst 
the  ])ygmies,  or  a  ]tyginy  amongst  tiie 
giants'?"  1  know  what  sort  of  com- 
pany I  prefer  myself:  but  tiiat  is  not 
the  point.  What  I  would  hint  is, 
that  we  possibly  give  ourselves  jait- 
ronizing  airs  before  small  pCM-jde,  as 
folks  higher  i)lac(d  than  ourselves 
give  themselves  airs  before  its.  Pat- 
ronizing airs?  Old  Miss  Mumbles, 
the  half-pay  lieutenant's  daughter, 
who  lives  over  the  pltimber's  with 
her  maid,  gives  herself  in  her  (Icgree 
more  airs  than  any  duchess  in  Bel- 
gravia,  and  would  leave  the  room  if 
a  tradesman's  wife  sat  down  in  it. 

Now  it  has  been  said  that  few  mea 


""TT 


410 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHIUP. 


in  this  city  of  London  are  so  simple 
in  their  manners  as  Philip  Firmm, 
and  that  he  treated  the  patron  whose 
hread  he  ate,  and  the  wealthy  relative 
who  condescended  to  visit  him,  with 
a  like  freedom.  He  is  blunt  but  not 
familiar,  and  is  not  a  whit  more  po- 
lite to  my  Lord  than  to  Jack  or  Tom 
at  the  coffee-house.  He  resents  fa- 
miliarity from  vulgar  persons,  and 
those  who  venture  on  it  retire  maimed 
and  mortified  after  coming  into  col- 
lision with  him.  As  for  the  people 
he  loves,  he  grovels  before  them,  wor- 
ships their  boot-tips,  and  their  gown- 
hems.  But  he  submits  to  them,  not 
for  their  wealth  or  rank,  but  for  love's 
sake.  He  submitted  very  magnani- 
mously, at  first,  to  the  kindnesses 
and  caresses  of  Lady  Ringwood  and 
her  daughters,  being  softened  and 
won  by  the  regard  which  they  showed 
for  his  wife  and  children. 

Although  Sir  John  was  for  the 
Rights  of  Man  everywhere,  all  over 
the  world,  and  had  pictures  of  Frank- 
lin, Lafayette,  and  Washington  in  his 
library,  he  likewise  had  portraits  of 
his  own  ancestors  in  that  apartment, 
and  entertained  a  very  high  opinion 
of  the  present  representative  of  the 
Ringwood  family.  The  character  of 
the  late  chief  of  the  house  was  noto- 
rious. Lord  Ringwood's  life  had  been 
irregular  and  his  morals  loose.  His 
talents  were  considerable,  no  doubt, 
but  they  had  not  been  devoted  to  se- 
rious study  or  directed,  to  useful  ends. 
A  wild  man  in  early  life,  he  had  only 
changed  his  practices  in  later  life  in 
consequence  of  ill  health,  and  became 
a  hermit  as  a  Certain  Person  became 
a  monk.  He  was  a  frivolous  person 
to  the  end,  and  was  not  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  public  man  and  states- 
man ;  and  this  light-minded  man  of 
pleasure  had  been  advanced  to  the 
third  rank  of  the  peerage,  whilst  his 
successor,  his  superior  in  intellect  and 
morality,  remained  a  baronet  still. 
How  blind  the  Ministry  was  which 
refused  to  recognize  so  much  talent 
and  worth  !  Had  there  been  public 
rirtue  or  common  sense  in  the  gov- 


ernors of  the  nation,  merits  like  Sir 
John's  never  could  have  been  over- 
looked. But  Ministers  were  notori- 
ously a  family  clique,  and  only  helped 
each  other.  Promotion  and  patron- 
age were  disgracefully  monopolized 
by  the  members  of  a  very  few  families 
who  were  not  better  men  of  business, 
men  of  better  character,  men  of  more 
ancient  lineage  (though  birth,  of 
course,  was  a  mere  accident)  than  Sir 
John  hiniSL-lf.  In  a  word,  until  they 
gave  him  a  peerage,  he  saw  verv'  little 
hope  for  the  cabinet  or  the  country. 

In  a  very  early  page  of  this  history 
mention  was  madeof  a  certain  Philip 
Ringwood,  to  whose  protection  Philip 
Finnin's  mother  confitied  her  boy 
when  he  was  first  sent  to  school. 
Philip  Ringwood  was  Firmin's  senior 
by  seven  years  ;  he  came  to  Old  Parr 
Street  twice  or  thrice  during  his  stay 
at  school,  condescended  to  take  the 
"  tips,"  of  which  the  poor  doctor  was 
liberal  enough,  but  never  deigned  to' 
take  any  notice  of  young  Firmin,  who 
looked  up  to  his  kinsman  with  awe 
and  trembling.  From  school  Philip 
Ringwood  speedily  departed  to  col- 
lege, and  then  entered  upon  public 
life.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir 
John  Ringwood,  with  whom  our 
friend  has  of  late  made  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Ringwood  was  a  much  greater 
personage  than  the  Baronet  his  father. 
Even  when  the  latter  succeeded  to 
Lord  Ringwood's  estates  and  came  to 
London,  he  could  scarcely  be  said 
to  equal  his  son  in  social  rank ;  and 
the  younger  patronized  his  parent. 
What  is  the  secret  of  great  social  suc- 
cess ?  It  is  not  to  be  gained  iiy  beau- 
ty, or  wealth,  or  birth,  or  wit,  or  val- 
or, or  eminence  of  any  kind.  It  is  a 
gift  of  Fortune,  bestowed,  like  that 
goddess's  favors,  capriciously.  Look, 
dear  madam,  at  the  most  fashionable 
ladies  at  present  reigning  in  London. 
Are  they  better  bred,  or  more  amiable, 
or  richer,  or  more  beautiful  than 
yourself?  See,  good  sir,  the  men 
who  lead  the  fashion,  and  stand  in 
the  bow-window  at  "  Black's  " ;  are 
they  wiser,  or  wittier,  or  more  agree- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


411 


able  people  than  you  ?  And  yet  you 
know  what  your  fate  would  be  if  you 
were  put  up  at  that  club.  Sir  John 
Ringwood  never  dared  to  be  jiroposed 
there,  even  after  his  great  accession  of 
fortune  on  the  Earl's  death.  His  son 
did  not  encourage  him.  People  even 
said  that  Ringwood  would  blackb.ill 
his  father  if  he  dared  to  offer  himself 
as  a  candidate. 

I  never,  I  say,  could  understand  the 
reason  of  Philip  Ringwood's  success 
in  life,  though  you  must  acknowledge 
that  he  is  one  of  our  most  eminent 
dandies.  He  is  affable  to  dukes.  He 
patronizes  marquises.  He  is  not  wit- 
ty. He  is  not  clever.  He  docs  not 
give  good  dinners.  How  many  baron- 
ets are  there  in  the  British  empire  ? 
Look  to  your  book,  and  see.  I  tell 
vou  there  are  many  of  these  whom 
Philip  Ringwood  would  scarcely  ad- 
mit to  wait  at  one  of  his  bad  dinners. 
By  calmly  asserting  himself  in  life, 
this  man  has  achieved  his  social  emi- 
nence. We  may  hate  him  ;  but  we 
acknowledge  his  superiority.  For  in- 
stance, I  should  as  soon  think  of  ask- 
ing him  to  dine  with  me,  as  I  should 
of  slapping  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury on  the  back. 

Mr.  Ringwood  has  a  meagre  little 
house  in  May  Fair,  and  belongs  to  a 
public  office,  where  he  patronizes  his 
chef.  His  own  family  bow  down  be- 
fore him ;  his  mother  is  humble  in  his 
company;  his  sisters  are  respectful; 
his  father  does  not  brag  of  his  own 
liberal  principles,  and  never  alludes  to 
the  rights  of  man  in  the  son's  pres- 
ence. He  is  called  "  Mr.  Kingwood  " 
in  the  family.  The  person  who  is 
least  in  awe  of  him  is  his  younger 
brother,  who  has  been  known  to 
make  faces  behind  the  cider's  back. 
But  he  is  a  dreadfully  headstrong  and 
ignorant  child,  and  respects  nothing. 
Lady  Ringwood,  by  the  way,  is  Mr. 
Ringwood's  step-mother.  His  own 
mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  noble 
house,  and  died  in  giving  birth  to  this 
paragon. 

Philip  Firmin,  who  had  not  set 
ejee  upon  his  kinsman  since    they 


were  at  school  together,  remembered 
some  stories  Mhich  were  current 
about  Ringwood,  and  by  no  means  to 
that  eminent  dandy's  credit,  —  stories 
of  intrigue,  of  play,  of  various  lilier- 
tine  exploits  on'  Mr.  Ringwood's 
part.  One  day,  Philip  and  Charlotte 
dined  with  Sir  John,  who  was  talk- 
ing and  chirping,  and  laying  down 
the  law,  and  bragging  away  accord- 
ing to  bis  wont,  when  his  son  entered 
and  asked  for  dinner.  He  had  ac- 
cejited  an  invitation  to  dine  at  Car- 
terton House.  The  Duke  had  one  of 
his  attacks  of  gout  just  before  dinner. 
The  dinner  was  off.  If  Lady  King- 
would  give  him  a  slice  of  mutton,  he 
would  be  very  nuK  h  obliged  to  her. 
A  jjiace  was  soon  found  for  him. 
"And,  Philip,  this  is  your  namesake, 
and  our  cousin,  Mr.  Philip  Firmin," 
said  tiic  Baronet,  presenting  his  son 
to  his  kinsman. 

"  Your  father  used  to  give  me  sov- 
ereigns, when  I  was  at  school.  I 
have  a  faint  recollection  of  you,  too. 
Little  white-headed  boy,  were  n't  vou? 
How  is  the  Doctor,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  % 
All  right  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  yon  know  his  father 
ran  away?"  calls  out  the  youngest 
member  of  the  family.  "Don't  kick 
me,  Emily.     He  did  run  awny." 

Then  Mr.  Rinj;wood  remembered, 
and  a  faint  blush  tinged  his  face. 
"  Lapse  of  time,  I  know.  Should  n't 
have  asked,  after  such  a  lapse  of 
time."  And  he  mentioned  a  case  in 
which  a  duke,  who  was  very  Ibrget- 
ful,  had  asked  a  marquis  about  his 
wife  who  had  run  away  with  an  earl, 
and  made  inquiries  about  the  mar' 
quis's  son,  who,  as  everybody  knew, 
was  not  on  terms  with  his  father. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Firmin.  —  Mrs. 
Philip  Firmin,"  cried  Lady  Ring- 
wood,  rather  nervously ;  and  I  sup- 
pose Mrs.  Philip  blushed,  and  the 
blush  became  her  ;  for  Mr.  l?ingwood 
afterwards  condescended  to  say  to  one 
of  his  sisters,  that  their  new-found  rel- 
ative seemed  one  of  your  rough-and- 
ready  sort  of  gentlemen,  but  his  wifo 
was  really  very  well  bred,  and  quite 


412 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


a  pretty  young  woman,  and  present- 
able anywhere,  —  really  anywhere. 
Charlotte  was  asked  to  sinj^  one  or 
two  of  her  little  songs  after  dinner. 
Mr.  Ringwood  was  delighted.  Her 
A'oice  was  perfectly  true.  What  she 
sang,  she  sang  admirably.  And  he 
Avas  good  enough  to  hum  over  one  of 
her  songs  (during  which  performance 
he  showed  that  his  voice  was  not  ex- 
empt from  little  frailties),  and  to  say 
lie  had  heard  Lady  Philomela  Shaker- 
ley  sing  that  very  song  at  Glenmavis, 
last  autumn  ;  and  it  was  such  a  favor- 
ite that  the  Duchess  asked  for  it  every 
night,  —  actually  every  night.  When 
our  friends  were  going  home,  Mr. 
liingwood  gave  Philip  almost  the 
whole  of  one  finger  to  shake;  and 
while  Philip  was  inwardly  raging  at 
his  impertinence,  believed  that  he  had 
entirely  fascinated  his  humble  rela- 
tives, and  that  he  had  l)een  most 
good-natured  and  friendly. 

I  cannot  tell  why  this  man's  patron- 
age chafed  and  goaded  our  worthy 
friend  so  as  to  drive  him  beyond  the 
bounds  of  all  politeness  and  reason. 
The  artless  remarks  of  the  little  boy, 
and  the  occasional  simple  speeches  of 
the  young  ladies,  had  only  tickled 
Philip's  humor,  and  served  to  amuse 
him  when  he  met  his  relatives.  I  sus- 
pect it  was  a  certain  free-and-easy 
manner  which  Mr.  Riui^wood  chose 
to  adopt  towards  Mrs.  Philip,  which 
annoyed  her  husband.  He  had  said 
nothing  at  which  offence  could  be 
taken :  perhaps  he  was  quite  uncon- 
scious of  offending;  nay,  thought 
himself  eminently  pleasing:  perhaps 
he  was  not  more  impertinent  towards 
her  thin  towards  other  women  :  but, 
in  talking  about  him,  Mr.  Firmin's 
eyes  flashed  very  fiercely,  and  he 
spoke  of  his  new  acquaintance  and 
relative,  with  his  usual  extreme  can- 
dor, as  an  upstart,  and  an  arrogant 
conceited  puppy  whose  e;irs  he  would 
like  to  pull. 

How  do  good  women  learn  to  dis- 
cover men  who  are  not  good  ?  Is  it 
by  instinct  ?  How  do  they  learn 
those  stories  about  men  *     I  protest 


I  never  told  my  wife  anything  good 
or  bad  regarding  this  Mr.  Ringwood, 
though,  of  course,  as  a  man  about 
tosvn,  I  have  heard  —  who  has  not  1 
—  little  anecdotes  regarding  his  ca- 
reer. His  conduct  in  that  affiiir  with 
Miss  Willowby  was  heartless  and 
cruel ;  his  behavior  to  that  unhajjpy 
Blanche  Painter  nobody  can  defend. 
My  wife  conveys  her  opinion  regard- 
ing Philip  Ringwood,  his  life,  prin- 
ciples, and  morality,  by  looks  and 
silences  which  are  more  awful  and 
killing  than  tiie  bitterest  words  of  sar- 
casm or  reproof.  Philip  Firmin,  who 
knows  her  ways,  watches  her  features, 
and,  as  I  have  said,  humbles  himself 
at  her  feet,  marked  the  lady's  awful 
looks,  when  he  came  to  describe  to  us 
his  meeting  with  his  cousin,  and  the 
magnificent  patronizing  airs  which 
Mr.  Ringwood  assumed. 

"  What  ?  "  he  said,  "  you  don't  like 
him  any  more  than  I  do  ?  I  thouy:ht 
you  would  not ;  and  I  am  so  glad." 

Philip's  friend  said  she  did  not 
know  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  had  never 
spoken  a  word  to  him  in  her  life. 

"Yes;  but  you  know  of  him," 
cries  the  impetuous  Firmin.  "  What 
do  you  know  of  him  with  his  mon- 
strous puppyism  and  arrogance  1  " 
O,  Mrs.  Laura  knew  very  little  of 
him.  She  did  not  believe — she  had 
much  rather  not  believe — what  the 
world  said  about  Mr.  Ringwood. 

"  Suppose  we  were  to  ask  tlie  Wool- 
combs  their  opinion  of  your  charac- 
ter, Philip?"  cries  that  gentleman's 
biographer,  with  a  laugh. 

"My  dear!"  says  Laura,  with  a 
yet  severer  look,  theseverity  of  which 
glance  I  must  explain.  The  differ- 
ences of  Woolcomb  and  his  wife  were 
notorious.  Their  unhappiness  was 
known  to  all  the  world.  Society  was 
beginning  to  look  with  a  very,  very 
cold  face  upon  Mrs.  Woolcomb.  Af- 
ter quarrels,  jealousies,  battles,  recon- 
ciliations, scenes  of  renewed  violence 
and  furious  language,  .had  come  indif- 
ference, and  the  most  reckless  gayety 
on  the  woman's  i.art.  Her  home 
was  splendid,  but  mean  and  misera' 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  ruILIP. 


413 


ble;  all  sorts  of  stories  were  rife  re- 
garding her  husband 's  brutal  treat- 
ment of  poor  A<:nes,  and  her  own 
imprudent  behavior.  Mrs.  Laura 
was  indignant  when  this  unhap])y 
Woman's  name  was  ever  mentioned, 
except  when  she  thought  liow  our 
warm,  true-hearted  Philip  had  escaped 
from  the  heartless  creature.  "  What 
a  blessing  it  was  that  you  were  ruined, 
Philip,  and  that  she  deserted  yMi !  " 
Tjaura  would  say.  "  What  fortune 
would  repay  you  for  marrying  such  a 
woman  1  " 

"  Indeed  it  was  worth  all  I  had  to 
lose  her,"  says  Philip,  "  and  so  the 
Doctor  and  I  are  quits.  If  he  had 
not  spent  my  fortune,  Agnes  would 
have  married  me.  If  she  had  married 
me,  I  might  have  turned  Othello,  and 
have  been  hung  for  smothering  her. 
Why,  if  I  had  not  been  poor,  I 
should  never  have  been  married  to 
little  Char,  —  and  fancy  not  being 
married  to  Char  !  "  The  worthy  fel- 
low here  lapses  into  silence,  and  in- 
dulges in  an  inward  rapture  at  the 
idea  of  his  own  excessive  happiness. 
Then  he  is  scared  again  at  the  thought 
which  his  own  imagination  has  raised. 

"  I  say  !  Fancy  being  without  the 
kids  and  Char !  "  he  cries  with  a  blank 
look. 

"  That  horrible  father  —  that  dread- 
ful mother —  pardon  me,  Philip;  but 
when  I  think  of  the  worldliness  of 
those  unhappy  people,  and  how  that 
poor  unhappy  woman  has  been  bred 
in  it,  and  ruined  by  it,  —  I  am  so,  so, 
so  enraged,  that  I  can't  keep  my  tem- 
per ! "  cries  the  lady.  "  Is  the  woman 
answerable,  or  the  parents,  who  hard- 
ened her  heart,  and  sold  her  —  sold 
her  to  that  —  0!"  Our  illustrious 
friend  Wooleomb  was  signified  by 
"  that  0,"  and  the  lady  once  more 
paused,  choked  with  wrath  as  she 
thought  about  that  O,  and  that  O's 
wife. 

"  I  wonder  he  has  not  Othello'd 
her,"  remarks  Philip,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  "  I  should,  if  she  had 
been  mine,  and  gone  on  as  they  say 
she  is  going  on." 


"  It  is  dreadful,  dreadful  to  con- 
tcnii)latc  !  "  continues  the  lady  "  To 
think  she  was  sold  by  her  own  parents, 
])Oor  thing,  poor  tiling  !  The  guilt  is 
with  them  who  led  her  wrong." 

"  Nay,"  says  one  of  the  three  inter- 
locutors.  "  Why  stop  at  poor  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Twysdcn  ?  Why  not  let 
them  off,  and  accuse  theii- '  parents  ? 
who  lived  woridly  too  in  their  genera- 
tion Or  stay,' they  descend  from 
William  the  Conqueror.  Let  us  ab- 
solve poor  Weldone  Twysdcn  and 
his  heartless  wife,  and  have  the  Nor- 
man into  court." 

"  Ah,  Arthur  !  Did  notour  sin  be- 
gin with  tiie  beginning,"  cries  the  la- 
dy, "  and  have  we  not  its  remedy  ?  O, 
this  poor  creature,  this  poor  creature ! 
May  she  know  where  to  take  refuge 
from  it,  and  learn  to  repent  in  time  !  " 

The  Georgian  and  Circassian  girls, 
they  say,  used  to  submit  to  their  lot 
very  complacently,  and  were  quite 
eager  to  get  to  market  at  Constanti- 
nople and  be  sold.  Mrs.  Wooleomb 
wanted  nobody  to  tempt  her  away 
from  poor  Philip.  She  hopped  away 
from  the  old  love  as  soon  as  ever  the 
new  one  appeared  with  his  bag  of 
money.  She  knew  quite  well  to  whom 
she  was  selling  herself  and  for  what. 
The  tempter  needed  no  skill,  or  arti- 
fice, or  eloquence.  He  had  none. 
But  he  showed  her  a  purse,  and  three 
fine  houses,  —  and  she  came.  Inno- 
cent child,  forsooth  !  She  knew  quite 
as  much  about  the  world  as  papa  and 
mamma ;  and  the  lawyers  did  not  look 
to  her  settlement  more  warily,  and 
coollv,  than  she  herself  did.  Did  she 
not  live  on  it  afterwards  ?  I  do  not 
say  she  lived  reputably,  but  most  com- 
fortably; as  Paris,  and  Rome,  and 
Naples,  and  Florence  can  tell  you, 
where  she  is  well  known  ;  where  she 
receives  a  great  deal  of  a  certain  kind 
of  company ;  where  she  is  scorned 
and  flattered,  and  splendid,  and  lone- 
ly, and  miserable.  She  is  not  misera- 
ble when  she  sees  children  :  she  does 
not  care  for  other  persons'  children, 
as  she  never  did  for  her  own,  even 
when   they    were    taken    from    her. 


414 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


She  is  of  course  hart  and  angry,  when 
quite  common,  vulgar  people,  not  in 
society,  you  understand,   turn   away 
from  her,  and  avoid  her,  and  won't 
come  to  her  parties.     She  gives  ex- 
cellent   dinners   which    jolly    fogies, 
rattling  bachelors,  and  doubtful  ladies 
frequent :  but  she  is  alone  and  unhap- 
py, —  unhappy  because  she  does  not 
see  parents,  sister,  or  brother  1    Allans,  j 
mon  lx>n  Monsieur  !     She  never  cared  [ 
for  parents,  sister,  or  brother ;   or  for 
baby ;    or  for  man   (except  once  for  j 
Philip  a  little,   little  bit,   when  her  [ 
heart  would   sometimes  go   up   two 
beats  in  a  minute  at  his  appearance.)  j 
But  she  is  unhappy,  because  she  is  i 
losing  her  figure,  and  from  tight  lac- 
ing her  nose  has  become  very  red,  and 
the  pearl-powder  won't  lie  on  it  some- 
how.    And   though  you   may   have  i 
thought  Woolcomb  an  odious,  igno-  ' 
rant,  and  underbred  little  wretch,  you  i 
must  own  that  at  least  he  had  red 
blood  in  his  veins.     Did  he  not  spend 
a  great  part   of  his  fortune  for  the 
possession   of    this  cold   wife.      For 
whom  did  she  ever  make  a  sacrifice, 
or  feel  a  pang  ?     I  am  sure  a  greater 
misfortune  than  any  which  has  befall- 
en friend  Philip  might  have  happened 
to  him,  and  so  congratulate  him  on 
his  escape. 

Having  vented  his  wrath  upon  the 
arrogance  and  impertinence  of  this 
solemn  puppy  of  a  Philip  Ringwood, 
our  friend  went  away  somewhat 
soothed  to  his  club  in  St.  James's 
Street.  The  "  Megatherium  Club  " 
is  only  a  very  few  doors  from  the  much 
more  aristocratic  establishment  of 
"Black's."  Mr.  Philip  Ringwood 
and  Mr.  Woolcomb  were  standing  on 
the  steps  of  "  Black's."  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  waved  a  graceful  little  kid- 
gloved  hand  to  Pliilip,  and  smiled  on 
him.  Mr.  Woolcomb  glared  at  our 
friend  out  of  his  opal  eyeballs.  Philip 
had  once  proposed  to  kick  Woolcomb 
into  the  sea.  He  somehow  felt  as  if 
he  would  like  to  treat  Ringwood  to 
the  same  bath.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Ringwood  labored  under  the  notion 
that  he  and  his  pew-found  acquaint- 


ance were  on  the  very  best  possible 
terms. 

At  one  time  poor  little  Woolcomb 
loved  to  be  seen  with  Philip  Ring- 
wood.  He  thought  he  acquired  dis- 
tinction from  the  companionship  of 
that  man  of  fashion,  and  would  hang 
on  Ringwood  as  they  walked  the 
Pall  Mall  pavement. 

■"  Uo  you  know  that  great  hulking, 
overbearing  brute  "? "  says  Woolcomb 
to  his  companion  on  the  steps  of 
"  Black's."  Perhaps  somebody  over- 
heard them  from  the  bow-window. 
(I  tell  you  everything  is  overheard 
in  London,  and  a  great  deal  more 
too.) 

"  Brute,  is  he  ?  "  says  Ringwood ; 
"  seems  a  rough,  overbearing  sort  of 
chap."  f- 

"  Blackguard  doctor's  son.  Bank- 
rupt. Father  ran  away,"  says  the 
dusky  man  with  the  opal  eyeballs. 

"  I  have  heard  he  was  a  rogue,  — 
the  Doctor ;  but  I  like  him.  Remem- 
ber he  gave  me  three  sovereigns  when 
I  was  at  school.  Always  like  a  fellow 
who  tips  you  when  you  are  at  school." 
And  here  Ringwood  beckoned  his 
brougham  which  was  in  waiting. 

"Shall  we  see  you  at  dinner? 
Where  are  you  going  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Woolcomb.  ' "  If  you  are  going  to- 
wards —  " 

"  Towards  Gray's  Inn,  to  see  my 
lawyer;  have  an  appointment  there; 
be  with  )^ou  at  eight ! "  And  Mr. 
Ringwood  skipped  into  his  little 
brougham  and  was  gone. 

Tom  Eaves  told  Philip.  Tom 
Eaves  belongs  to  "  Black's  Club,"  to 
"  Bays's,"  to  the  "  Megatherium,"  I 
don't  know  to  how  many  clubs  in  St. 
James's  Street.  Tom  Eaves  knows 
everybody's  business,  and  all  the 
scandal  of  all  the  clubs  for  the  last 
forty  years.  He  knows  who  has  lost 
money  and  to  whom ;  what  is  the 
talk  of  the  opera-box  and  what  the 
scandal  of  the  coulisses ;  who  is  mak- 
ing love  to  whose  daughter.  What- 
ever men  and  women  are  doing  in 
May  Fair  is  the  farrago  of  Tom's 
libel.     He    knows  so  many  stories. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


415 


that  of  course  he  makes  mistakes  in 
names  sometimes,  and  says  that  Jones 
is  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  vvlion  he  is 
thriving  and  prosperous,  and  it  is 
poor  Brown  who  is  in  ditlieulties  ; 
or  informs  us  that  Mrs.  Fanny  is 
flirting  with  Captain  Ogle  wlien  both 
are  as  innocent  of  a  flirtation  as  you 
and  I  are.  Tom  certainly  is  mis- 
chievous, and  often  is  wrong,  but 
when  he  speaks  of  our  neiglibors  he 
is  amusing. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  a  play  to  see 
Ringwood  and  Othello  together," 
says  Tom  to  Philip.  "  How  proud 
the  black  man  is  to  be  seen  with  him  ! 
Jleard  him  abuse  you  to  Ringwo<jd. 
liingwood  stuck  up  for  you  and  for 
your  poor  governor, — spoke  up  like 
a  man, —  like  a  man  who  sticks  up  for 
a  fellow  who  is  down.  How  the  black 
man  brags  about  having  liingwood 
to  dinner !  Always  having  liim  to 
dinner.  You  should  have  seen  Ring- 
wood  shake  him  off"!  Said  he  was 
going  to  Gray's  Inn.  Heard  him  say 
Gray's  Inn  Lane  to  his  man.  Don't 
believe  a  word  of  it" 

Now  I  dare  say  you  are  much  (oo 
fashionable  to  know  that  Mil  man 
Street  is  a  little  ail  de  sac  of  a  street, 
which  leads  into  Guildford  Street, 
which  leads  into  Gray's  Inn  Lane. 
Philip  went  his  way  homewards, 
shaking  off"  Tom  Eaves,  who,  for  his 
part,  trotted  off"  to  his  other  clubs, 
telling  people  how  he  had  just  been 
talking  with  that  bankrupt  doctor's 
son,  and  wondering  how  Philip  should 
get  money  enough  to  pay  his  club 
subscription.  Philip  then  went  on 
his  way,  striding  homewards  at  his 
usual  manly  pace. 

Whose  black  brougham  was  that  ? 
—  the  black  brougham  with  the  chest- 
nut horse  walking  up  and  down 
Guildford  Street.  Mr.  Ringwood's 
crest  was  on  the  brougham.  When 
Philip  entered  his  drawing-room,  hav- 
ing opened  the  door  with  his  own 
key,  there  sat  Mr.  Ringwood,  talking 
to  Mrs.  Charlotte,  who  was  taking  a 
cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock.  She  and 
the  children  liked  that  cup  of  tea. 


Sometimes  it  served  Mrs.  Char  for 
dinner  when  Phili])  dined  from  home. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming 
here,  you  might  have  brought  me 
home  and  saved  me  a  long  walk," 
said  Philip,  wiping  a  burning  fore- 
head. 

"  So  I  might,  —  so  I  might !  "  said 
the  other.  "I  never  thouglit  of  it. 
1  had  to  see  my  lawyer  in  Gray's 
Inn  ;  and  it  was  then  l  thought  "of 
Cuming  on  to  see  you,  as  I  was  telling 
Mrs.  Firmin  ;  and  a  very  nice  quiet 
place  you  live  in  !  " 

This  was  very  well.  But  for  the 
first  and  only  time  of  his  life,  Philip 
was  jealous. 

"Don't  drub  so  ■\\nth  your  feet  i 
Don't  like  to  ride  when  you  jog  so  on 
the  floor,"  said  Pi)ili])'s  eldest  dar- 
ling, who  had  clambered  on  papa's 
knee.  "  Why  do  you  look  so  ?  Don't 
squeeze  m}'  arm,  j^apa  !  " 

Mamma  was  utterly  unaware  that 
Philip  had  any  cause  for  agitation. 
"  You  have  walked  all  the  way  from 
Westminster,  and  the  club,  and  you 
are  quite  hot  and  tired  !  "  she  said. 
"  Some  tea,  my  dear?  " 

Philip  nearly  choked  with  the  tea. 
From  under  his  hair,  which  fell  over 
his  forehead,  he  looked  intojiis  wife's 
face.  It  A\  ore  such  a  sweet  look  of 
innocence  and  wonder,  that,  as  he  re- 
garded her,  the  spasm  of  jealousy 
passed  off.  No  :  there  was  no  look 
of  guilt  in  those  tender  eyes.  Philip 
could  only  read  in  them  the  wife's 
tender  love  and  anxiety  for  himself 

But  what  of  Mr.  Ringwood's  face"? 
When  the  first  little  blush  and  hesi- 
tation had  passed  away,  Mr.  Ring- 
wood's  pale  countenance  reassumed 
that  calm  self-satisfied  smile,  which  it 
customarily  wore.  "  The  coolness  of 
the  man  maddened  me,"  said  Philip, 
talking  about  the  little  occurrence 
afterwards,  and  to  his  usual  confi- 
dant. 

"  Gracious  powers,"  cries  the  other. 
"  If  I  went  to  see  Charlotte  and  the 
children,  would  you  be  jealous  of  me, 
you  bearded  Turk  ?  Are  you  pre- 
pared with  sack  and  bowstring  for 


416 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


every  man  who  visits  Mrs.  Firmin? 
If  you  are  to  come  out  in  this  charac- 
ter, you  will  lead  yourself  and  your 
wife  ])retty  lives.  Of  course  you 
quarrelled  with  Lovelace  then  and 
there,  and  thivatened  to  throw  him 
out  of  window  then  and  there  ?  Your 
custom  is  to  strike  when  you  are  hot, 
witness  —  " 

"  O  dear,  no!"  cried  Philip,  inter- 
ru])tinir  me.  "  I  have  not  quarrelled 
with  him  yet."  And  he  ground  his 
teeth,  and  gave  a  very  fierce  glare 
witli  his  eyes.  "  I  sat  him  out  quite 
civilly.  I  went  with  him  to  the  door ; 
and  1  have  left  directions  that  he  is 
never  to  pass  it  again,  —  that  's  all. 
But  I  have  not  quarrelled  with  him 
in  the  least.  Two  men  never  he- 
haved  more  politely  than  we  did. 
We  bowed  and  grinned  at  each  other 
quite  amiably.  But  I  own,  when  he 
held  out  his  hand,  I  was  obliged  to 
keep  mine  behind  my  back,  for  they 
felt  very  mischievous,  and  inclined 
to  —  Well,  never  mind.  Perhaps  it 
is,  as  you  say  ;  and  he  meant  no  sort 
of  harm." 

Where,  I  say  again,  do  wonaen 
learn  all  the  mischief  they  know  ? 
Why  should  my  wife  have  such  a 
mistrust  and  horror  of  this  gentle- 
man ?  She  took  Philip's  side  en- 
tirely. She  said  she  thought  he  was 
quite  right  in  keeping  that  person  out 
of  his  house.  What  did  she  know 
about  that  person  1  Did  I  not  know 
myself?  He  was  a  libertine,  and  led 
a  bad  life.  He  had  led  young  men 
astray,  and  taught  them  to  gamble, 
and  helped  them  to  ruin  themselves. 
We  have  all  heard  stories  about  the 
late  Sir  Philip  Ringwood ;  that  last 
scandal  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
three  years  ago,  and  which  brought 
his  career  to  an  end  at  Naples,  1  need 
not,  of  course,  allude  to.  But  four- 
teen or  fifteen  years  ago,  about  which 
time  this  jjresent  portion  of  our  little 
story  is  enacted,  what  did  she  know 
about  Ringwood's  misdoings  ? 

No  :  Philip  Firm  in  diil  not  quarrel 
with  Philip  Ringwood  on  this  occa- 
sion.    But  he  shut  his  door  on  Mr. 


Ringwood.  He  refu.sed  all  invita- 
tions to  Sir  Jo'.in's  house,  which,  of 
course,  came  less  frequently,  and 
which  then  ceased  to  come  at  all. 
Rich  folks  do  not  like  to  be  so  treated 
by  the  poor.  Had  Lady  Ringwood  a 
notion  of  the  rea.son  why  Philip  kept 
away  from  her  house  ?  I  think  it  is 
more  than  possible.  Some  of  Philip's 
friends  knew  her ;  and  she  seemed 
only  pained,  not  surprised  or  angry, 
at  a  quarrel  which  somehow  did  take 
place  between  the  two  gentlemen  not 
very  long  after  that  visit  of  Mr. 
Ringwood  to  his  kinsman  in  Milman 
Street. 

"  Your  friend  seems  A'ery  hot- 
headed and  violent  tempered,"  Lady 
Ringwood  said,  speaking  of  that  very 
quarrel.  "  I  am  sorry  he  keeps  that 
kind  of  company.  I  am  sure  it  must 
be  too  expensive  for  him." 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Philip's  old 
school-friend.  Lord  Egham,  met  us 
a  very  few  days  after  the  meeting  and 
parting  of  Philip  and  his  cousin  in 
Milman  Street,  and  invited  us  to  a 
bachelor's  dinner  on  the  river.  Our 
wives  (without  whose  sanction  no  good 
mail  would  surely  ever  look  a  white- 
bait in  the  face)  gave  us  permission 
to  attend  this  entertainment,  and  re- 
mained at  home,  and  partook  of  a 
tea-dinner  (blessings  on  them  !  )  with 
the  dear  children.  Men  grow  young 
again  when  they  meet  at  these  par- 
tics.  We  talk  of  flogging,  proctors, 
old  cronies  ;  we  recite  old  school  and 
college  jokes.  I  hope  that  some  of 
us  may  carry  on  these  pleasant  enter- 
tainments until  we  arc  fourscore,  and 
that  our  toothless  old  gums  will 
mumble  the  old  stories,  and  will 
laugh  over  the  old  jokes  with  ever- 
renewed  gusto.  Does  the  kind  read- 
er remember  the  account  of  such  a 
dinner  at  the  commencement  of  this 
history  1  On  this  afternoon,  Egham, 
Maynard,  Burroughs  (several  of  the 
men  formerly  mentioned),  reassem- 
bled. 1  think  we  actually  like  each 
other  well  enough  to  be  pleased  to 
hear  of  each  other's  successes.  I 
know  that  one  or  two  good  fellows, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


417 


tipon  whom  fortune  has  frowned, 
have  found  other  good  fellows  in 
that  company  to  help  and  aid  them  ; 
and  that  all  are  better  for  that 
kindly  freemasonry. 

Before  the  dinner  was  sencd,  the 
guests  met  on  the  green  of  the  hotel, 
and  examined  that  fair  landscape, 
which  surely  does  not  lose  its  charm 
in  our  eyes  because  it  is  commonly 
seen  before  a  good  dinner.  The 
crested  elms,  the  shining  river,  the 
emerald  meadows,  the  painted  par- 
terres of  flowers  around,  all  wafting  an 
agreeable  smell  of  friture,  of  flowers 
and  flounders  exquisitely  commin- 
gled. Who  has  not  enjoyed  these  de- 
lights ■?  May  some  of  us,  I  say,  live 
to  drink  the  '58  claret  in  the  year 
1900 !  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
survivors  of  our  society-  will  still 
laugh  at  the  jokes  which  we  used  to 
relish  when  the  present  century  was 
still  only  middle-aged.  Egham  was 
going  to  be  married.  Would  he  be 
allowed  to  dine  next  year  ?  Frank 
Berry's  wife  would  not  let  him  come. 
Do  you  remember  his  tremendous 
fight  with  Biggs  ?  Remember  ?  who 
did  n't  ?  Marston  was  Berry's  bot- 
tle-holder ;  poor  Marston,  who  was 
killed  in  India.  And  Biggs  and  Ber- 
ry were  the  closest  friends  in  life  ever 
after.  Who  would  ever  have  thought 
of  Brackley  becoming  serious,  and 
being  made  an  archdeacon  ?  Do  you 
remember  his  fight  with  Ringwood  ? 
What  an  infernal  bully  he  was,  and 
how  glad  we  all  were  when  Brackley 
thrashed  him.  What  different  fiites 
await  men  !  Whi  would  ever  have 
imagined  Nosey  Brackley  a  curate  m 
the  mining  districts,  and  ending  hy 
wearing  a  rosette  in  his  hat  ?  Who 
would  ever  have  thought  of  Ring- 
wood  becoming  such  a  prodigious 
swell  and  leader  of  fashion  ?  He  was 
a  very  shy  fellow ;  not  at  all  a  good- 
looking  fellow :  and  what  a  wild  fel- 
low he  had  become,  and  what  a  lady- 
killer  !  Is  n't  he  some  connection  of 
yours,  Firmin  ?  Philip  said  yes,  but 
that  he  had  scarcely  met  Ringwood  at 
all.  And  one  man  after  another  told 
18* 


I  anecdotes  of  Ringwood  ;  how  he  had 
young  men  to  jilay  in  his  house  ;  liow 
he    hud    j)!ayed    in    that   very  "  Star 
,  and    Garter "  ;   and    how    he  always 
I  won.     You  must  jjlease  to  remember 
i  that  our  story  dates  back  some  six- 
teen  years,    when   the   dice-box    still 
rattled   occasionally,    and    the   king 
was  tnrned. 

As  this  old  school  gossip  is  going 
on,  Lord  Egham  arrives,  and  with 
him  this  very  Ringwood  about  wliom 
the  old  school-fellows  had  just  been 
talking.  He  came  down  inP'ghani's 
phaeton.  Of  course,  the  greatest  man 
of  the  party  always  waits  for  Ring- 
wood.  "  If  we  had  had  a  duke  at 
Grey  friars,"  says  some  grumbler, 
"  Ringwood  would  have  made  the 
duke  liring  him  down." 

Philip's  friend,  when  he  beheld  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Ringwood,  seized  Fir- 
min's  big  arm  and  whispered,  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  No  figliting. 
No  quarrels.  Let  bygones  be  by- 
gones. Remember,  there  can  be  no 
eartlily  use  in  a  scandal." 

"Leave  me  alone,"  says  Philip, 
"  and  don't  be  afraid." 

I  thought  Ringwood  seemed  to 
start  back  for  a  moment,  and  perhaps 
i  fancied  that  he  looked  a  little  j)ale, 
!  but  he  advanced  with  a  gracious  smile 
towards  Philip,  and  remarked,  "  It  is 
a  long  time  since  we  have  seen  you  at 
my  father's." 

Philip  grinned  and  smiled  too. 
"  It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had 
been  in  Hill  Street."  But  Philip's 
smile  was  not  at  all  pleasing  to  be- 
hold. Indeed,  a  worse  performer  of 
comedy  than  our  friend  docs  not  walk 
the  stage  of  this  life. 

On  this  the  other  gayly  remarked 
he  was  glad  Philip  had  leave  to  join 
the  bachelor's  party.  "  Meeting  of 
old  school-fellows  very  pleasant. 
Had  n't  been  to  one  of  them  for  a 
long  time  :  though  the  '  Friars  '  was 
an  abominable  hole :  that  was  the 
truth.  Who  was  that  in  the  shovel- 
hat  ?  a  bishop  ?  what  bishop  Y  " 

It  was  Brackley,  the  Archdeacon, 
who  turned  very  red  on  seeing  Ring- 
AA 


418 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


wood.  For  the  fact  is,  Brackley  was 
talking  to  Penuystone,  the  little  boy 
about  whom  the  quarrel  and  fight  had 
taken  place  at  school,  when  Ringwood 
iiad  proposed  forcibly  to  take  Penny- 
stone's  money  from  him.  "  I  think, 
Mr.  Ringwood,  that  Pennystone  is 
big  enough  to  hold  his  own  now, 
don't  you  ?  "  said  the  Archdeacon  ; 
and  with  this  the  Venerable  man 
turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  Ringwood 
to  face  the  little  Pennystone  of  former 
years  ;  now  a  gigantic  country  squire, 
with  health  ringing  in  his  voice,  and 
a  pair  of  great  arms  and  fists  that 
would  have  demolished  six  Ring- 
woods  in  the  field. 

The  sight  of  these  quondam  ene- 
mies rather  disturbed  Mr.  Ringwood's 
tranquillity. 

"  1  was  dreadfully  bullied  at  that 
school,"  he  said,  in  an  appealing 
manner,  to  Mr.  Pennystone.  "  I  did 
as  others  did.  It  was  a  horrible 
place,  and  I  hate  the  name  of  it.  I 
say,  Egham,  don't  you  think  that 
Barnaby's  motion  last  night  was 
very  ill  timed,  and  that  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  answered  him  very 
neatly  ? " 

This  became  a  cant  phrase  amongst 
some  of  us  wags  afterwards.  When- 
ever we  wished  to  change  a  conver- 
sation, it  was,  "  I  say,  Egham,  don't 
you  think  Barnaby's  motion  was  very 
ill  timed  ;  and  that  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  answered  him  very 
neatly  ?  "  You  know  Mr.  Ringwood 
would  scarcely  have  thought  of  coming 
amon;:st  such  common  people  as  his 
old  school-fellows,  but  seeing  Lord 
Egham's  phaeton  at  "  Black's,"  he 
condcscenckd  to  drive  down  to  Rich- 
mond with  his  Lordship,  and  I  hope  a 
great  number  of  his  friends  in  St. 
James's  Street  saw  him  in  that  noble 
company. 

Windham  was  the  chairman  of  the 
evening,  —  elected  to  that  post  because 
he  is  very  fond  of  making  speeches  to 
which  he  does  not  in  the  least  expect 
you  to  listen.  All  men  of  sense  are 
glad  to  hand  over  this  office  to  him  : 
and  I  hope,  for  my  part,  a  day  will 


soon  arrive  (but  I  own,  mind  yon, 
that  I  do  not  carve  well)  when  we 
shall  have  the  speeches  done  by  a 
skilled  waiter  at  the  side-table,  as  we 
now  have  the  carving.  Don't  you 
find  that  you  splash  the  gravy,  that 
you  mangle  the  meat,  that  you  can't 
nick  the  joint  in  helping  the  company 
to  a  dinner-speech  1  I,  for  my  part, 
own  that  I  am  in  a  state  of  tremor 
and  absence  of  mind  before  the  opera- 
tion ;  in  a  condition  of  imbecility 
during  the  business ;  and  that  I  am 
sure  of  a  headache  and  indigestion 
the  next  morning.  What  then  ? 
Have  I  not  seen  one  of  the  bravest 
men  in  the  world,  at  a  City  dinner 
last  year,  in  a  state  of  equal  panic  ? 
— I  feel  that  I  am  wandering  from 
Philip's  adventures  to  his  biograph- 
er's, and  confess  I  am  thinking  of  the 
dismal  Jiasco  I  myself  made  on  this 
occasion  at  the  Richmond  dinner. 

You  see,  the  order  of  the  day  at 
these  meetings  is  to  joke  at  everything, 
—  to  joke  at  the  chairman,  at  all 
the  speakers,  at  the  army  and  navy, 
at  the  venerable  the  legislature,  at 
the  bar  and  bench,  and  so  forth.  If 
we  toast  a  barrister,  we  show  how 
admirably  he  would  have  figured  in 
the  dock  :  if  a  sailor,  how  lamentably 
sea-sick  he  was:  if  a  soldier,  how 
nimbly  he  ran  away.  For  example, 
we  drank  the  Venerable  Archdeacon 
Brackley  and  the  army.  We  deplored 
the  perverseness  which  had  led  him  to 
adopt  a  black  coat  instead  of  a  red. 
War  had  evidently  been  his  vocation, 
as  he  had  shown  by  the  frequent 
battles  in  which  he  had  been  engaged 
at  school.  For  what  was  the  other 
great  warrior  of  the  age  fiimoiis  1  for 
that  Roman  feature  in  his  face,  which 
distinguished,  which  gave  a  name  to, 
our  Brackley,  —  a  name  by  which 
we  fondly  clung  (cries  of  "Nosey, 
Nosey  !  ")  Might  that  feature  orna- 
ment erelong  the  face  of — of  one  of 
the  chiefs  of  that  army  of  which 
he  was  a  distinguished  field-officer! 
Might —  Here  I  confess  I  fairly 
broke  down,  lost  the  thread  of  my 
joke,  —  at  which  Brackley  seemed  to 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


419 


look  rather  severe,  —  and  finished  the 
speech  with  a  gobble  about  regard, 
esteem,  everybody  respect  you,  and 
good  health,  old  boy,  —  which  answer- 
ed quite  as  well  as  a  finished  oration, 
however  the  author  might  be  discon- 
tented with  it. 

The  Archdeacon's  little  sermon 
was  very  brief,  as  the  discourses  of 
sensible  divines  sometimes  will  be. 
He  was  glad  to  meet  old  friends,  —  to 
make  friends  with  old  foes  (loud  cries 
of  "  Bravo,  Nosey!")  In  the  battle 
of  life,  every  man  must  meet  with  a 
blow  or  two;  and  every  brave  one 
would  take  his  facer  with  good- 
humor.  Had  he  quarrelled  with 
any  old  school-fellow,  in  old  times  ? 
He  wore  peace  not  only  on  his  coat, 
but  in  his  heart.  Peace  and  good- 
will were  the  words  of  the  day  in  the 
army  to  which  he  belonged  ;  and  he 
hoped  that  all  oflScers  in  it  were 
animated  by  one  esprit  de  corps. 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which  men 
looked  towards  Mr.  liingwood,  as  tlie 
"  old  foe  "  towards  whom  the  Arch- 
deacon had  held  out  the  hand  of 
amity;  but  Ringwood,  who  had  lis- 
tened to  the  Archdeacon's  speech  with 
an  expression  of  great  di.sgust,  did  not 
rise  from  his  chair,  —  only  remarking 
to  his  neighbor  Egham,  "  Why  should 
I  get  up  ]  Hang  him,  I  have  nothing 
to  say.  I  say,  Egham,  why  did  you 
induce  me  to  come  into  this  kind  of 
thing  ?  " 

Fearing  that  a  collision  might  take 

flace  between  Philip  and  his  kinsman, 
had  drawn  Philip  away  from  the 
place  in  the  room  to  which  Lord 
Egham  beckoned  him,  saying,  "  Nev- 
er mind,  Philip,  about  sitting  by  the 
lord,"  by  whose  side  I  knew  perfectly 
well  that  Mr.  Ringwood  would  find  a 
place.  But  it  was  our  lot  to  be  separ- 
ated from  his  Lordship  by  merely  the 
table's  breadth,  and  some  intervening 
vases  of  flowers  and  fruits  through 
which  we  could  see  and  hear  our 
opposite  neighbors.  When  Ringwood 
spoke  "of  this  kind  of  thing,"  Philip 
glared  across  the  table,  and  started  as 
if  he  was  going  to  speak;    but  his 


neighbor  pinched  him  on  the  knee, 
and  whispered  to  him,  "  Silence,  —  no 
scandal.  Remember  !  "  The  other 
fell  back,  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine, 
and  made  me- far  from  comfortable  by 
peiforming  a  tattoo  on  my  chair. 

The  speeches  went  on.  If  they 
were  not  more  eloquent  they  were 
more  noisy  and  lively  than  before. 
Then  the  aid  of  song  was  called  in 
to  enliven  the  banquet.  The  Arch- 
deacon, whf)  had  looked  a  little  un- 
easy for  the  last  half-hour,  rose  up  at 
the  call  for  a  song,  and  quitted  the 
room.  "  Let  us  go  too,  Philip,"  said 
Philip's  neighbor.  "  You  don't  want 
to  hear  those  dreadful  old  college 
songs  over  again  ? "  But  Philip 
sulkily  said,  "  You  go,  I  should  like 
to  stay." 

Lord  Egham  was  seeing  the  last  of 
his  bachelor  life.  He  liked  those  last 
evenings  to  be  merry;  he  lingered 
over  them,  and  did  notwish  them  toend 
too  quickly.  His  neighbor  was  long 
since  tired  of  the  entertainment,  and 
sick  of  our  company.  Mr.  Ringwood 
had  lived  of  late  in  a  world  of  such 
fashion  that  ordinary  mortals  were 
despicable  to  him.  He  had  no  affec- 
tionate remembrance  of  his  early  days, 
or  of  anyliody  belonging  to  them. 
Whilst  Philip  was  singing  his  song 
of  "  Doctor  Luther,"  I  was  glad  that 
he  could  not  see  the  face  of  surprise 
and  disgust  which  his  kinsman  bore. 
Other  vocal  performances  followed, 
including  a  song  by  Lord  Egham, 
Avhich,  I  am  bound  to  say,  was  hide- 
ously out  of  tune  ;  but  was  received 
by  his  near  neighbor  complacently 
enough. 

The  noise  now  began  to  increase, 
the  choruses  were  fuller,  the  speeches 
were  louder  and  more  incoherent.  I 
don't  think  the  company  heard  a 
speech  by  little  Mr.  Vanjohn,  whose 
health  was  drunk  as  representative 
of  the  British  Turf,  and  who  said  that 
he  had  never  known  anything  about 
the  turf  or  about  play,  until  their  old 
school-tellow,  his  dear  friend,  —  his 
swell  friend,  if  he  might  be  permit' 
ted  the  expression,  —  Mr.  Ringwood, 


420 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


taught  him  the  use  of  cards  ;  and  once 
ill  his  own  house,  in  May  Fair,  and 
on je  in  this  very  house,  the  "  Star 
and  Garter,"  showed  him  how  to  play 
the  noble  game  of  Blind  Hookey. 
"  The  men  are  drunk.  Let  us  go 
away,  Egham.  I  did  n't  come  for  this 
kind  of  thing ! "  cried  Ringwood, 
furious,  by  Lord  Egham's  side. 

This  was  the  expression  which 
Mr.  Ringwood  had  used  a  short  time 
bsfore,  when  Philip  was  about  to  in- 
terrupt him.  He  had  lifted  his  gun 
to  fire  then,  but  his  hand  had  been 
hL'lJ  back.  The  bird  passed  him  once 
more,  and  he  could  not  help  taking 
aim.  '•  This  kind  of  thing  is  very 
dull,  is  n't  it,  Ringwood  1  "  he  called 
across  the  table,  pulling  away  a 
flower,  and  glaring  at  the  other 
through  the  little  open  space. 

"  Dull,  old  boy  ?  I  call  it  doosed 
good  fun,"  cries  Lord  Egham,  in  the 
height  of  good-humor. 

"  Dull  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
asked  my  Lord's  neighbor. 

"  I  mean  you  would  prefer  having 
a  couple  of  packs  of  cards,  and  a  little 
room,  where  you  could  win  three  or 
four  hundred  from  a  young  fellow? 
It 's  more  profitable  and  more  quiet 
than  '  this  kind  of  thing.'  " 

"  I  say,  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  !  "  cries  the  other. 

"  What !  You  have  forgotten  al- 
ready ?  Has  not  Vanjohn  just  told 
you,  how  you  and  Mr.  Deuceace 
brought  hira  down  here,  and  won  his 
money  from  him ;  and  then  how  you 
gave  him  his  revenge  at  your  own 
housT  in  —  " 

"  Did  I  come  here  to  be  insulted  by 
that  fellow  ?  "  cries  Mr.  Ringwood, 
appealing  to  his  neighbor. 

"  If  that  is  an  insult,  you  may  put 
it  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  Mr. 
Ringwood  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  Egham ! 
Don't  kee  i  me  here  listening  to  this 
bla "  ■ 

"  If  you  say  anothor  word,"  says 
Philip,  "  I  '11  send  this  decanter  at 
your  head ! " 

'  Come,    come,  —  nonsense !      No 


quarrelling  !  Make  it  up  !  Every, 
body  has  had  too  much !  Get  the 
bill,  and  order  the  omnibus  round '.  " 
A  crowd  was  on  one  side  of  the  table, 
and  the  other.  One  of  the  cousins 
had  not  the  least  wish  that  the  quar- 
rel should  proceed  any  further. 

When,  being  in  a  quarrel,  Philip 
Finnin  assumes  the  calm  and  stately 
manner,  he  is  perhaps  in  his  most 
dangerous  state.  Lord  Egham's 
phaeton  (in  which  Mr.  Ringwood 
showed  a  great  unwillingness  to  take 
a  seat  by  the  driver)  was  at  the  hotel 
gate,  an  omnibus  and  a  private  car- 
riage or  two  were  in  readiness  to  take 
home  the  other  guests  of  the  feast. 
Egham  went  into  the  hotel  to  light  a 
final  cigar,  and  now  Philip  springing 
forward,  caught  by  the  arm  the  gen- 
tleman sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
phaeton. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said.  "  You  used  a 
word  just  now  —  " 

"  What  word  ?  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  words  !  "  cries  the  other, 
in  a  loud  voice. 

"  You  said  '  insulted,'  "  murmured 
Philip,  in  the  gentlest  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said,"  said 
Ringwood,  peevishly. 

"  I  said,  in  reply  to  the  words 
which  you  forget,  '  that  I  would 
knock  you  down,'  or  words  to  that 
effect.  If  you  feel  in  the  least 
aggrieved,  you  know  where  my  cham- 
bers are,  —  with  Mr.  Vanjohn,  whom 
you  and  your  mistress  inveigled  to  play 
cards  when  he  was  a  boy.  You  are 
not  fit  to  come  into  an  honest  man's 
house.  It  was  only  because  I  wished 
to  spare  a  lady's  feelings  that  I  re- 
frained from  turning  you  out  of  mine. 
Good  night,  Egham  !  "  and  with  great 
majesty  Mr.  Philip  returned  to  his 
companion  and  the  Hansom  cab 
which  was  in  waiting  to  convey  these 
two  gentlemen  to  London. 

I  was  quite  correct  in  my  surmise 
that  Philip's  antagonist  would  take 
no  further  notice  of  the  quarrel  to 
Philip  per>on:\lly.  Indeed,  he  affec^ 
ed  to  treat  it  as  a  drunken  brawl,  re- 
garding which  no  man  of  sense  would 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


421 


allow  himself  to  be  seriously  dis- 
turbed. A  quari'el  between  two  men 
of  the  same  family  :  —  between  riiilip 
and  his  own  relative  who  had  only 
wished  him  well  1  —  it  was  absurd 
and  impossible.  What  Mr.  King- 
wood  deplored  was  the  obstinate  ill 
temper  and  known  violence  of  Philip, 
which  were  forever  leading  him  into 
these  brawls,  and  estranging  his  fam- 
ily from  him.  A  man  seized  by  the 
coat,  insulted,  threatened  with  a  de- 
canter !  A  man  of  station  so  treated 
by  a  person  whose  own  position  was 
most  questionable,  whose  father  was 
a  fugitive,  and  who  himself  was 
struggling  for  precarious  subsistence  ! 
The  arrogance  was  too  great.  With 
the  best  wishes  for  the  unhappy  young 
man,  and  his  amiable  (but  empty- 
headed)  little  wife,  it  was  impossible 
to  take  further  notice  of  them.  Let 
the  visits  cease.  Let  the  carnage  no 
more  drive  from  Berkeley  Square  to 
Milman  Street.  Let  there  be  no 
presents  of  game,  poultry,  legs  of 
mutton,  old  clothes,  and  what  not. 
Henceforth,  therefore,  the  Kingwood 
carriage  was  unknown  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  Foundling,  and  the 
Ringwood  footmen  no  more  scented 
with  their  powdered  heads  the  Fir- 
mins'  little  hall  ceiling.  Sir  John 
said  to  the  end  that  he  was  about 
to  procure  a  comfortable  place  for 
Fhilip,  when  his  deplorable  violence 
obliged  Sir  John  to  break  off  all  re- 
lations with  the  most  misguided 
yonng  man. 

Nor  was  the  end  of  the  mischief 
here.  We  have  all  read  how  tiie  gods 
never  appear  alone,  —  the  gods  bring- 
ing good  or  evil  fortune.  When  two 
or  three  little  pieces  of  good  luck  had 
befallen  our  poor  friend,  my  wife 
triumphantly  cried  out,  "I  told  you 
so !  Did  I  not  always  say  that 
Heaven  would  befriend  that  dear  in- 
nocent wife  and  children  ;  that  brave, 
generous,  imprudent  father '(  "  And 
now  when  the  evil  days  came,  this 
monstrous  logician  insisted  that  pov- 
erty, sickness,  dreadful  doubt  and 
terror,  hunger  and  want  almost,  were 


all  equally  intended  for  Philip's  ad- 
vantage, and  would  work  fur  <zoud  in 
the  end.  So  that  rain  was  j:ood,  and 
sunshine  was  good  ;  so  that  sickness 
was  good,  and  health  was  good  ;  that 
Philip  ill  was  to  be  as  happy  as  Philip 
well,  and  as  thankful  for  a  sick  house 
and  an  enqtty  pocket  as  for  a  warm 
fireside  and  a  comfortable  larder. 
Mind,  I  ask  no  Christian  philosopher 
to  revile  at  his  ill  Ibrtunes,  or  to 
despair.  I  will  accept  a  toothache 
(or  any  evil  of  life),  and  bear  it  with- 
out too  much  grumbling.  But  I 
cannot  say  that  to  have  a  tooth  iniikd 
out  is  a  blessing,  or  fondle  the  hand 
which  wrenches  at  my  jaw. 

"  They  can  live  without  their  fine 
relations,  and  their  donations  of 
mutton  and  turnips,"  cries  my  wife 
with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  The  way 
in  which  those  ])eoi)le  patronized 
Philip  and  dear  Charlotte  was  per- 
fectly intoleriible.  Lady  Ringwood 
knows  how  dreadful  the  conduct  of 
that  Mr.  Ringwood  is,  and  —  and  I 
have  no  patience  with  her  !  "  How, 
I  repeat,  do  women  know  about  men  ? 
How  do  they  telegraph  to  each  other 
their  notices  of  alarm  and  mistrust  ? 
and  fly  as  birds  rise  up  with  a  rush 
and  a  skurrv  when  danger  appears  to 
be  near  1  All  this  was  very  well. 
But  Mr.  Tregarvan  heard  some  ac- 
count of  the  dispute  between  Philip 
and  Mr.  Kingwood,  and  ap])lied  to 
Sir  John  for  further  particulars  ;  and 
Sir  John  —  liberal  man  as  he  was 
and  ever  had  been,  and  ])riding  him- 
self little.  Heaven  knew,  on  the  priv- 
ilege of  rank,  which  was  merely  ad- 
ventitious—  was  constrained  to  con- 
fess that  this  young  man's  conduct 
showed  a  great  deal  too  much  laissez 
ol/er.  He  had  constantly,  at  Sir 
John's  own  house,  manifested  an 
independence  which  had  bordered  on 
rudeness  ;  he  was  always  notorious 
for  his  quarrelsome  disposition,  and 
lately  had  so  disgraced  himself  in  a 
scene  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  Mr, 
Kingwood,  —  had  exhibited  such  bru- 
tality, ingratitude,  and  —  and  iuebri- 
ation,  that  Sir  John  was  free  to  con- 


422 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


fess  he  had  forbidden  the  gentleman 
his  door. 

"  An  insubordinate,  ill-conditioned 
fellow,  certainly  !  "  thinks  Tre^arvan. 
(And  I  do  not  say,  though  Philip  is 
my  friend,  that  Tregarvan  and  Sir 
John  were  altogether  wrong  regard- 
ing their  protege. )  Twice  Tregarvan 
had  invited  hira  to  breakfast,  and 
Philip  had  not  appeared.  More  than 
ont-e  he  had  contradicted  Tregarvan 
about  the  Review.  He  had  said  that 
the  Review  was  not  getting  on,  and  if 
vou  asked  Philip  his  candid  opinion, 
It  would  not  get  on.  Six  numbers 
had  appeared,  and  it  did  not  meet  with 
that  attention  which  the  public  ought 
to  pay  to  it.  The  public  was  careless 
as  to  the  designs  of  that  Great  Pow- 
er which  it  was  Tregarvan 's  aim  to 
defy  and  confound.  He  took  counsel 
with  himself  He  walked  over  to 
the  publisher's,  and  inspected  the 
books ;  and  the  result  of  that  inspec- 
tion was  so  disagreeable,  that  he 
went  home  straightway  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  New 
Milman  Street,  Guildford  Street, 
which  that  poor  fellow  brought  to 
his  usual  advisers. 

That  letter  contained  a  check  for 
a  quarter's  salary,  and  bade  adieu  to 
Mr.  Firmin.  The  writer  would  not 
recapitulate  the  causes  of  dissatisfac- 
tion which  he  felt  respecting  the  con- 
duct of  the  Review.  He  was  much 
disappointed  in  its  progress,  and  dis- 
satisfied with  its  general  management, 
lie  thought  an  ojjportunity  was  lost 
which  never  could  be  recovered  for 
exposing  the  designs  of  a  Power 
which  menaced  the  liberty  and  tran- 
quillity of  Europe.  Had  it  been 
directed  with  proper  energy  that  Re- 
^^ew  might  have  been  an  segis  to  that 
threatened  liberty,  a  lamp  to  lighten 
the  darkness  of  tliat  menaced  free- 
dom. It  might  have  pointed  the  way 
to  the  cultivation  bomiruin  literarum ; 
it  might  have  fostered  rising  talent, 
it  might  have  chastised  the  arrogance 
of  so-called  critics ;  it  might  have 
served  the  cause  of  truth.  Tregar- 
Tan's   hopes   were  disappointed :    he 


would  not  say  by  whose  remissness 
or  fault.  He  had  done  his  utmost  in 
the  good  work,  and,  finally,  would 
thank  Mr.  Firmin  to  print  off  jhe 
articles  already  purchased  and  paid 
for,  and  to  prepare  a  brief  notice  for 
the  next  number  announcing  the  dis- 
continuance of  the  Review  ;  and 
Tregarvan  showed  my  wife  a  cold 
shoulder  for  a  considerable  time  after- 
wards, nor  were  we  asked  to  his 
tea-parties,  I  forget  for  how  many 
seasons. 

This  to  ns  was  no  great  loss  or 
subject  of  annoyance :  but  to  poor  Phil- 
ip 1  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  almost 
death  to  him.  He  never  could  save 
much  out  of  his  little  pittance.  Here 
were  fifty  pounds  in  his  hand,  it  is 
true ;  but  bills,  taxes,  rent,  the  hun- 
dred little  obligations  of  a  house, 
were  due  and  pressing  upon  him  ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety,  our  dear 
little  Mrs.  Philip  was  about  to  present 
him  with  a  third  ornament  to  his 
nursery.  Poor  little  Tertius  arrived 
duly  enough ;  and,  such  hypocrites 
were  we,  that  the  poor  mother  was 
absolutely  thinking  of  calling  the 
child  Tregarvan  Firmin,  as  a  com- 
pliment to  Mr.  Tregarvan,  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  them,  and  Tregarvan 
Firmin  would  be  such  a  pretty  name, . 
she  thought.  We  imagined  the 
Little  Sister  kne\v  nothing  about 
Philip's  anxieties.  Of  course,  she 
attended  Mrs.  Philip  through  her 
troubles,  and  we  vow  that  we  never 
said  a  word  to  her  regarding  Philip's 
own.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  went  in  to 
Philip  one  day,  as  he  was  sitting 
very  grave  and  sad  with  his  two  first- 
born children,  and  she  took  both  his 
hands,  and  said,  "  You  know,  dear,  I 
have  saved  ever  so  much :  and  I 
always  intended  it  for  —  you  know 
who."  And  here  she  loosened  one 
hand  from  him,  and  felt  in  her  pocket 
for  a  purse,  and  put  it  into  Philip's 
hand,  and  wept  on  his  shoulder.  And 
Philip  kissed  her,  and  thanked  God 
for  sending  him  such  a  dear  friend, 
and  gave  her  back  her  purse,  though 
indeed  he  had  but  five  pounds  left  in 


THE   ADVENTURES    OF  PHILIP. 


423 


his  own  when  this  benefactress  came 
to  him. 

Yes,  but  there  were  debts  owing 
to  him.  There  was  his  wife's  little 
portion  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  wliich 
had  never  been  paid  since  the  second 
quarter  after  their  marriage,  whicli 
had  happened  now  more  than  three 
years  ago.  As  Philip  had  scarce  a 
guinea  in  the  world,  he  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Baynes,  his  wife's  mother,  to 
explain  his  extreme  want,  and  to  re- 
mind her  that  this  money  was  due. 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  living  at 
Jersey  at  this  time  in  a  choice  society 
of  half-pay  ladies,  clergymen,  cap- 
tains and  the  like,  among  whom  I 
have  no  doubt  she  moved  as  a  great 
lady.  She  wore  a  large  medallion  of 
the  deceased  General  on  her  neck. 
She  wept  dry  tears  over  that  interest- 
ing cameo  at  frequent  tea-parties. 
She  never  could  forgive  Philip  for 
taking  away  her  child  from  her,  and 
if  any  one  would  take  away  others 
of  her  girls,  she  would  be  equally  un- 
forgiving. Endowed  with  that  won- 
derful logic  with  which  women  are 
blessed,  I  believe  she  never  admitted, 
or  has  been  able  to  admit  to  her  own 
mind,  that  she  did  Philip  or  her 
daughter  a  wrong.  In  the  tea-parties 
of  her  acquaintance  she  groaned  over 
the  extravagance  of  her  son-in-law 
and  his  brutal  treatment  of  her  bless- 
ed child.  Many  good  people  agreed 
with  her  and  shook  their  respectable 
noddles  when  the  name  of  that  prod- 
igal Philip  was  mentioned  over  licr 
muffins  and  Bohea.  He  was  prayed 
for ;  his  dear  widowed  motherin-law 
was  pitied,  and  l)lcssed  witli  all  the 
comfort  reverend  gentlemen  could 
supply  on  the  spot.  "  Upon  my 
honor,  Firmin,  Emily  and  I  were 
made  to  believe  that  you  were  a 
monster,  sir,"  the  stout  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  once  said  ;  "  and  now  I  have 
heard  your  story,  by  Jove,  I  think  it 
is  you,  and  not  Eliza  Baynes,  who 
were  wronged.  She  has  a  deuce 
of  a  tongue,  Eliza  has  :  and  a  temper, 
—  poor  Charles  knew  what  that 
was ! "     In    fine,    when    Philip,   re- 


duced to  his  last  guinea,  asked 
Charlotte's  mother  to  pay  her  debt 
to  her  sick  daugliter,  Mrs.  General 
B.  sent  Philip  a  ten-pound  note, 
open,  by  Captain  Swang,  of  the 
Indian  army,  who  happened  to  be 
coming  to  England.  And  that, 
Philip  says,  of  all  the  hard  knocks  of 
tkte,  has  been  the  very  hardest  which 
he  has  had  to  endure. 

But  the  poor  little  wife  knew  noth^ 
ingof  this  cruelty,  nor,  indeed,  of  the 
very  poverty  which  was  hemming 
round  her  curtain  ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  his  griefs,  Philip  Eirmin  was  im- 
mensely consoled  by  the  tender  fidel- 
ity of  the  friends  whom  God  had  sent 
him.  Their  griefs  were  drawing  to 
an  end  now.  Kind  readers  all,  may 
your  sorrows,  may  mine,  leave  us 
with  hearts  not  imlnttered,  and  hum- 
bly acquiescent  to  the  Great  Will ! 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

IN  WHICH  WE  REACH  THE  LAST 
STAGE  BUT  ONE  OF  THIS  JOUR- 
NEY. 

Although  poverty  was  knocking 
at  Philip's  humble  door,  little  Char- 
lotte in  all  her  trouble  never  knew  how 
menacing  the  grim  visitor  had  been. 
She  did  not  quite  understand  that  her 
husband  in  his  last  necessity  sent  to 
her  mother  for  his  due,  and  that  the 
mother  turned  away  and  refused  him. 
"Ah,"  thought  jioor  Philip,  groaning 
in  his  despair,  "  I  wonder  whether 
the  thieves  who  attacked  the  man  in 
the  ])arable  were  robbers  of  his  own 
family,  who  knew  that  be  carried 
money  with  him  to  Jerusalem,  and 
waylaid  him  on  the  journey  ?  "  But 
again  and  again  he  has  thanked  God, 
with  grateful  heart,  for  the  Samari- 
tans wliom  he  has  met  on  life's  road, 
and  if  be  has  not  forgiven,  it  must  be 
owned  he  has  never  done  any  wrong 
to  those  who  robbed  him. 

Charlotte  did  not  know  that  her 
husband  was  at  his  last  guinea,  and  a 
prey  to  dreadful  anxiety  for  her  dear 


424 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


sake,  for  after  the  birth  of  her  child  a 
fever  came  upon  her ;  in  the  delirium 
consequent  upon  which  the  poor  thing 
was    ignorant  of  all   that   happened 
round  her.     A  fortnight  with  a  wife 
in    extremity,    with    crpng  infants, 
with  hunger  menacing  at  the  door, 
passed    for  Philip    somehow.      The 
young   man  became  an  old  man  in 
t  lis  time.     Indeed,  his  fair  hair  was  j 
streaked   with   white  at  the  temples  j 
afterwards.      But    it    must    not    be 
imagined  that  he  had  not  friends  dur- 
i!ig  his  affliction,  and  he  always  can  [ 
gratefully    count    up   the    names  of 
)n-vny    persons   to   whom   he    might  I 
h  ivc  applied  had  he  been  in  need.    He  | 
(lid  not  look  or  ask  for  these  succors 
from  his  relatives.     Aunt  and  Uncle  i 
Twysden  shrieked  and  cried  out  at  [ 
his    extravagance,  imprudence,    and 
folly.     Sir  John   Ringwood  said  he 
must    really    wash    his   hands   of  a 
young  man  who  menaced  the  life  of 
his  own  son.      Grenville   Woolcomb,  j 
with  many  oaths,  in  which  brother-in- 
law  Ringwood  joined  chorus,  cursed 
Philip,  and  said  he  did  n't  care,  and  1 
the  beggar  ought  to  be  hung,  and  his  j 
father    ought   to   be   hung.      But   I  ■ 
think  I  know  half  a  dozen  good  men  j 
and  true  who  told  a  different  tale,  and  j 
who  were  ready  with  their  sympathy 
and  succor.     Did  not  Mrs.  Flanagan, 
the  Irish  laundress,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  sobs  and  gin,  offer  to  go  and  chare 
at  Philip's   house  for  nothing,   and 
nurse  the   dear  children  ?     Did   not 
Goodenough    say,    "  If  you  are    in 
need,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course  you 
know  where  to  come  " ;  and  did  he 
not  actually  give  two  prescriptions, 
one  for  poor  Charlotte,  and  one  for 
fifty  pounds  to  be  taken  immediately, 
which  he  handed  to  the  nurse  by  mis- 
take ?     You  may  be  sure  she  did  not 
appropriate  the  money,  for  of  course 
you  know  that  the   nurse  was  Mrs. 
Brandon.       Charlotte    has    one    re- 
morse in  her  life.     She  owns  she  was 
jealous   of   the   Little    Sister.     And 
now    when  that  gentle  life  is  over, 
when  Philip's  poverty  trials  are  ended, 
when  the  children  go  sometimes  and 


look  wistfully  at  the  grave  of  their 
dear  Caroline,  friend  Charlotte  leans 
her  head  against  her  husband's  shoul- 
der, and  owns  humbly  how  good,  how 
brave,  how  generous  a  friend  Heaven 
sent  them  in  that  humble  defender. 

Have  you  ever  felt  the  pinch  of  pov- 
erty 1  In  many  cases  it  is  like  the 
dentist's  chair,  more  dreadful  in  the 
contemplation  than  in  the  actual  suf- 
fering. Philip  says  he  never  was 
fairly  bea<^n,  but  on  that  day  when, 
in  reply  to  his  solicitation  to  have  his 
due,  Mrs.  Baynes's  friend,  Captain 
Swang,  brought  him  the  open  ten- 
pound  note.  It  was  not  much  of  a 
blow ;  the  hand  which  dealt  it  made 
the  hurt  so  keen.  "  I  remember,"  says 
he,  '•  bursting  out  crying  at  school, 
because  a  big  boy  hit  me  a  slight  tap, 
and  other  boys  said,  '  O  you  coward.' 
It  was  that  I  knew  the  boy  at  home, 
and  my  parents  had  been  kind  to  him. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  wrong  that  Bumps 
should  strike  me,"  said  Philip  ;  and 
he  looked,  while  telling  the  story,  as 
if  he  could  cry  about  this  injury  now. 
I  hope  he  has  revenged  himself  by 
presenting  coals  of  fire  to  his  wife's 
relations.  But  this  day,  when  he  is 
enjoying  good  health,  and  compe- 
tence, it  is  not  safe  to  mention 
mothers-in-law  in  his  ])resence.  He 
fumes,  shouts,  and  rages  against  them, 
as  if  all  were  like  his  ;  and  his,  I  have 
been  told,  is  a  lad}'  perfectl}'  well  satis- 
fied with  herself  and  her  conduct  in 
this  world ;  and  as  for  the  next  — 
but  our  story  doe-?  not  dare  to  point 
so  far.  It  only  interests  itself  about 
a  little  clique  of  people  here  below,  — 
their  griefs,  their  trials,  their  weak- 
nesses, their  kindly  hearts. 

People  there  are  in  our  history  who 
do  not  seem  to  me  to  have  kindly  hearts 
at  all ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  if  a  biography 
could  be  written  from  their  point  of 
view,  some  other  novelist  might  show 
how  Philip  and  his  biographer  were  a 
pair  of  selfish  worldlings  unworthy  of 
cre.Iit :  how  Uncle  and  Aunt  Twys- 
den were  most  cxemplarv  people,  and 
so  forth.  Have  I  not  told  you  how 
many   people  at  New   York    shook 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


425 


their  heads  when  Philip's  name  was  j 
mentioned,  and  intimated  a  strong  I 
opinion  that  he  used  his  father  very 
ill  ?  When  he  fell  wounded  and 
hleeding,  patron  Tregarvan  drop])ed 
him  oflF  his  horse,  and  Cousin  liinu- 
wood  did  not  look  behind  to  see  how- 
he  fared.  But  these,  again,  may  i 
have  had  their  opinion  regarding  our  , 
friend,  who  may  have  been  misrepre- 
sented to  them  —  I  protest  as  I  look 
liaek  at  the  past  portions  of  this  his-  \ 
tory,  I  begin  to  have  qualms,  and  ask 
myself  whether  the  folks  of  whom  we 
have  been  prattling  have  had  justiee 
done  to  them  ;  whether  Agnes  Twys- 
den  is  not  a  suffering  martyr  justly 
offended  by  Philip's  turbulent  behav- 
ior, and  whether  Philip  deserves  any 
particular  attention  or  kindness  at  all. 
He  is  not  transcendently  clever ;  he  is 
not  gloriously  beautiful.  He  is  not 
about  to  illuminate  the  darkness  in 
which  the  people  grovel,  with  the 
flashing  emanations  of  his  truth.  He 
sometimes  owes  money,  which  he 
cannot  pay.  He  slips,  tumbles,  blun- 
ders, brags.  Ah  !  he  sins  and  re- 
pents —  pray  Heaven  —  of  faults,  of 
vanities,  of  pride,  of  a  thousand  short- 
comings !  This  I  say  —  Jiffo  —  as 
my  friend's  biographer.  Perhaps  I 
do  not  understand  the  other  charac- 
ters round  about  him  so  well,  and 
have  overlooked  a  number  of  their 
merits,  and  caricatured  and  exagger- 
ated their  little  defects. 

Among  the  Samaritans  who  came 
to  Philip's  help  in  these  his  straits,  he 
loves  to  remember  the  name  of  J.  J., 
the  painter,  whom  he  found  sitting 
with  the  children  one  day  making 
drawings  for  them,  which  the  good 
painter  never  tired  to  sketch. 

Now  if  those  children  would  but 
have  kept  Ridley's  sketches,  and 
waited  for  a  good  season  at  Christy's, 
I  have  no  doubt  they  might  have  got 
scores  of  pounds  for  the  drawings ; 
but  then,  you  see,  they  chose  to  im- 
prove the  drawings  with  their  own 
hands.  They  painted  the  soldiers 
yellow,  the  horses  blue,  and  so  forth. 
On  the  horses  they  put  soldiers   of 


their  own  construction.  Ridlcv's 
]andscai)cs  were  enriched  with  re])Ve- 
scutatioiis  of  "omnibuses,"  which  the 
children  saw  and  admired  in  the 
neighboring  New  Koad.  I  dare  say, 
as  the  fever  left  her,  and  as  she  canie 
to  see  things  as  they  were,  Charlotte's 
eyes  dwelt  fondly  on  the  pictures  of 
the  onniibuscs  inserted  in  Mr.  Kid- 
ley's  sketches,  and  she  put  some  aside 
and  showed  them  to  her  friends,  and 
said,  "  Does  n't  our  darling  show  ex- 
traordinary talent  for  drawing?  Mr. 
Ividley  says  he  does.  He  did  a  great 
part  of  this  etching." 

But,  besides  the  drawings,  what  do 

you   think  Master  Ridley  offered  to 

[draw   for  his  friends?      Besides   llie 

1  prescriptions  of  medicine,  what  drafts 

did      Dr.      (ioodenough     prescribe? 

When  nurse  Brandon  came  to  Mrs. 

Phili])  in  her  anxious  time,  we  know 

I  what  sort  of  payment  she  jiroposed 

for  her  services.     Who  says  the  world 

is  all   cold  ?     There  is  the  sun  and 

I  the  shadows.     And  the  Heaven  which 

j  ordains  poverty  and    sickness   sends 

,  pity,  and  love,  and  succor. 

During  Charlotte's  fever  and  ill- 
,  ness,  the  Little  Sister  had  left  her  but 
I  for  one  day,  wl'.en  her  patient  was 
(juiet,  and  ])ronounced  to  be  mending. 
I  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Charlotte  was 
I  very  ill  indeed  on  this  occasion  ;  so 
ill  that  Dr.  Goodenough  thought  she 
might  have  given  us  all  the  slip  :  so 
ill  that,  but  for  Brandon,  she  would, 
in  all  probability,  have  escaped  out  of 
this  troublous  world,  and  left  I'liilip 
and  her  orphaned  little  ones.  Char- 
lotte mended  then  :  could  take  food, 
and  liked  it,  and  was  specially  pleased 
with  some  chickens  which  her  nurse 
informed  her  were  "  from  the  coun- 
try." "  From  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
no  doubt  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Firmin,  re- 
membering the  presents  sent  from 
Berkeley  Square,  and  the  mutton 
and  the  turnips. 

"  Well,  eat  and  be  thankful  !  "says 
the  Little  Sister,  who  was  as  gay  as  a 
little  sister  could  be,  and  who  had 
prepared  a  beautiful  bread  sauce  for 
the  fowl;  and  who   had    tossed   tha 


426 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


baby,  and  who  showed  it  to  its  ad- 
miring brother  and  sister  ever  so 
many  times  ;  and  who  saw  that  Mr. 
Philip  had  his  dinner  comfortable  ; 
and  who  never  took  so  much  as  a 
drop  of  porter,  —  at  home  a  little 
glass  sometimes  was  comfortable,  but 
on  duty,  never,  never !  No,  not  if 
Dr.  Goodenough  ordered  it!  she 
vowed.  And  the  Doctor  wished  he 
could  say  as  much,  or  believe  as 
much,  of  all  his  nurses. 

Milman  Street  is  such  a  quiet  little 
street  that  our  friends  had  not  carpet- 
ed it  in  the  usual  way ;  and   three 
days  after  her  temporary  absence,  as  [ 
nurse  Brandon  sits  by  her  patient's 
bed,  powdering  the  back  of  a  small 
pink   infant    that   makes    believe  to 
swim  upon    her  apron,    a  rattle    of 
wheels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street,  —  \ 
of  four  wheels,  of  one  horse,  of  a  jing-  ' 
ling    carriage,    which     stops    before  ' 
Philip's  door.     "  It 's  the  trap,"  says 
nurse  Brandon,  delighted.     "  It  must 
be  those  kind  Ringwoods,"  says  Mrs.  ; 
Philip.     "  But  stop,  Brandon.     Did  : 
not  they,  did  not  we  ?  —  O,  how  kind 
of  them !  "     She  was  trying  to  recall 
the  past.     Past  and  present  for  days  ' 
had  been  strangely    mingled  in  her  j 
fevered    brain.     "  Hush,    my    dear !  [ 
you   are  to  be  kep'  quite  still,"  says 
the   nurse, —  and  then   proceeded   to 
finish  the  polishing  and  powdering  of 
the  pink  frog  on  her  lap.  | 

The  bedroom  window  was  open  to- 1 
wards  the   sunny   street :    but  Mrs.  J 
Philip  did  not  hear  a  female  voice  ' 
say,  "  'Old  the  'orse's  'ead,  Jim,"  or  ! 
she  might  have  been  agitated.     The  , 
horse's  head  was  held,  and  a  gentle- 
man and  a  lady  with  a  great  basket 
containing    pease,     butter,     greens, 
flowers,    and    other    rural    produce, 
descended  from  the  vehicle  and  rang 
at  the  bell. 

Philip  opened  it ;  with  his  little 
ones,  as  usual,  trotting  at  his  knees. 

"  Why,  my  darlings,  how  you  air 
grown  !  "  cries  the  lady. 

"  Bygones  be  bygones.  Give  us 
your  'and,  Firmin  :  here  's  mine.  My 
missus    has   brought    some   country 


butter  and  things  for  your  dear  good 
lady.  And  we  hope  you  liked  the 
chickens.  And  God  bless  you,  old 
fellow,  how  are  you  ? "  The  tears 
were  rolling  down  the  good  man's 
cheeks  as  he  spoke.  And  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  was  likewise  exceedingly  hot, 
and  very  much  affected.  And  the 
children  said  to  her,  "  Mamma  is 
better  now :  and  we  have  a  little 
brother,  and  he  is  crying  now  up 
stairs." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darlings ! "  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  off  by  this  time.  She 
put  down  her  peace-offering  of  car- 
rots, chickens,  bacon,  butter.  She 
cried  plentifully.  "  It  was  Brandon 
came  and  told  us,"  she  said;  "and 
when  she  told  us  how  all  your  great 
people  had  flung  you  over,  and  you  'd 
been  quarrelling  again,  you  naughty 
fellar,  I  says  to  Mugford,  '  Let  's  go 
and  see  after  that  dear  thing,  Mug- 
ford,' I  says.  And  here  we  are. 
And  year 's  two  nice  cakes  for  your 
children  "  (after  a  forage  in  the  cor- 
nucopia), "  and,  lor',  how  they  are 
grown ! " 

A  little  nurse  from  the  up-stairs  re- 
gions here  makes  her  appearance, 
holding  a  bundle  of  cashmere  shawls, 
part  of  which  is  removed,  and  dis- 
closes a  being  pronounced  to  be  rav- 
ishingly  beautiful,  and  "jest  like 
Mrs.  Mugford's  Emaly  ! " 

"  I  say,"  says  Mugford,  "  the  old 
shop 's  still  open  to  you.  T'other 
chap  would  n't  do  at  all.  He  was 
wild  when  he  got  the  drink  on  board. 
Hirish.  Pitched  into  Bickerton  and 
blacked  'is  eye.  It  was  Bickerton  who 
told  you  lies  about  that  poor  lady. 
Don't  see  'im  .no  more  now.  Bor- 
rowed some  money  of  me  ;  have  n't 
seen  him  since.  We  were  both  wrong, 
and  we  must  make  it  up,  —  the  mis- 
sus says  we  must." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Philip,  with  a 
grasp  of  the  honest  fellow's  hand. 
And  next  Sunday  he  and  a  trim  little 
sister,  and  two  children,  went  to  an 
old  church  in  Queen  Square,  Blooms- 
burj',  which  was  fashionable  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when  Richard 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


427 


Steele  kept  house,  and  did  not  pay 
rent,  hard  by.  And  when  tlie  clerg^y- 
man  in  the  thanksgiving  particular- 
ized those  who  desired  now  to  "  otfur 
up  their  praises  and  thanksgivings 
for  late  mercies  vouchsafed  to  them," 
once  more  Philip  llrniin  said 
"  Amen,"  on  his  knees,  and  with  all 
his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  REALMS  OF    BLISS. 

You  know  —  all  good  boys  and 
girls  at  Christmas  know —  that,  before 
the  last  scene  of  the  pantomime,  when 
the  Good  Fairy  ascends  in  a  blaze  of 
glory,  and  Harlequin  and  Columbine 
lake  hands,  having  danced  through  all 
their  tricks  and  troubles  and  tumbles, 
there  is  a  dark,  brief,  seemingly  mean- 
ingless, penultimate  scene,  in  which 
the  performers  appear  to  grope  about 
perplexed,  whilst  the  music  of  bas- 
soons and  trombones,  and  the  like, 
groans  tragically.  As  the  actors,  with 
gestures  of  dismay  and  out-stretched 
arms,  move  hither  and  thither,  the 
wary  frequenter  of  pantomimes  sees 
the  illuminators  of  the  Abode  of  Bliss 
and  Hall  of  Prismatic  Splendor  nim- 
bly moving  behind  the  canvas,  and 
streaking  the  darkness  with  twinkling 
fires,  —  fires  which  shall  blaze  out 
presently  in  a  thousand  colors  round 
the  Good  Fairy  in  the  Revolving 
Temple  of  Blinding  Bliss.  Be  hap- 
py, Harlequin  !  Love  and  be  happy 
and  dance,  pretty  Columbine !  Chil- 
dren, mamma  bids  you  put  your 
shawls  on.  And  Jack  and  Mary 
(who  are  young  and  love  panto- 
mimes) look  lingeringly  still  over  the 
ledge  of  the  box,  whilst  the  fairy  tem- 
ple yet  revolves,  whilst  the  fireworks 
play,  and  ere  the  Great  Dark  Cur- 
tain descends. 

My  dear  young  people,  whoTiave 
sat  kindly  through  the  scenes  during 
which  our  entertainment  has  lasted, 
be  it  known  to  you  that  last  chapter 
was  the  dark  scene.  Look  to  your 
eloaks,  and  tie  np  your  little  throats, 


for  I  tell  you  the  great  baize  will 
soon  tall  down.  Have  I  had  any  se- 
crets iVoni  you  all  through  the  piece  ? 
I  tell  you  the  house  will  be  empty 
and  you  will  be  in  the  cold  air. 
When  the  boxes  have  got  their  night- 
gowns on,  and  you  are  all  gone,  and 
I  have  turned  off  the  gas,  and  am  in 
the  empty  theatre  alone  in  the  dark- 
ness, 1  promise  you  I  shall  not  be 
merry.  Never  mind  !  We  can  make 
jokes  though  we  are  ever  so  sad.  We 
can  jump  over  head  and  heels,  though 
I  declare  the  pit  is  half  emptied  al- 
j  ready,  and  the  last  orange-woman 
I  has  slunk  away.  Encore  une  pirou- 
ette. Columbine !  Saute,  Arlequin, 
nion  ami !  Though  there  are  but 
five  bars  more  of  the  music,  my  good 
1  people,  we  must  jump  over'  them 
briskly,  and  then  go  home  to  supper 
and  bed. 

Philip  Firmin,  then,  was  immense- 
ly moved  by  this  magnanimity  and 
kindness  on  the  part  of  his  old  em- 
ployer, and  has  always  considered 
Mugford's  arrival  and  friendliness  as 
a  special  interposition  in  his  favor. 
He  owes  it  all  to  Brandon,  he  says. 
It  was  she  who  bethought  herself  of 
his  condition,  represented  it  to  Mug- 
ford,  and  reconciled  him  to  his  enemy. 
Others  were  most  ready  with  their 
money.  It  was  Brandon  who  brought 
him  work  rather  than  alms,  and  en- 
abled him  to  face  fortune  cheertuUy. 
His  interval  of  poverty  was  so  short, 
that  he  actually  had  not  occasion  to 
borrow.  A  week  moi'e,  and  he  could 
not  have  held  out,  and  poor  Brandon's 
little  marriage  present  must  have 
gone  to  the  cenotaph  of  sovereigns, 
—  the  dear  Little  Sister's  gift  which 
Philip's  family  cherish  to  this  hour. 

So  Philip,  with  a  humbled  heart 
and  demeanor,  clambered  up  on  his 
sub-editorial  stool  once  more  at  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  and  again  bran- 
dished the  paste-pot  and  the  scissors. 
I  forget  whether  Bickerton  still  re- 
mained in  command  at  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  or  was  more  kind  to  Philip 
than  before,  or  was  afraid  of  him. 


428 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


having  heard  of  his  exploits  as  a  fire- 
eater  ;  but  certain  it  is,  the  two  did 
not  come  to  a  quarrel,  giving  each 
other  a  wide  berth,  as  the  saying  is, 
and  each  doing  his  own  duty.  Good 
by,  Monsieur  Bickerton.  Except, 
mayhap,  in  the  final  group,  round  the 
Fairy  Chariot  (when,  I  promise 
you,  there  will  be  such  a  blaze  of 
glory  that  he  will  be  invisible),  we 
shall  never  see  the  little  spiteful  en- 
vious creature  more.  Let  him  pop 
down  his  appointed  trap-door;  and, 
quick,  fiddles  !  let  the  brisk  music  jig 
on. 

Owing  to  the  coolness  which  had 
arisen  between  Philip  and  his  father 
on  account  of  their  different  views  re- 
garding the  use  to  be  made  of  Phil- 
ip's signature,  the  old  gentleman 
drew  no  further  bills  in  his  son's 
name,  and  our  friend  was  spared 
from  the  unpleasant  persecution. 
Mr.  Hunt  loved  Dr.  Firmin  so  ar- 
dently that  he  could  not  bear  to  be 
separated  from  the  Doctor  long. 
Without  the  Doctor,  London  was  a 
dreary  wilderness  to  Hunt  Unfor- 
tunate remembrances  of  past  pecu- 
niary transactions  haunted  him  here. 
We  were  all  of  us  glad  when  he  final- 
ly retired  from  the  Covent  Garden 
taverns  and  betook  himself  to  the 
Bowery  once  more. 

And  now  friend  Philip  was  at  work 
again,  hardly  earning  a  scanty  meal 
for  self,  wife,  servant,  children.  It 
was  indeed  a  meagre  meal,  and  a 
small  wage.  Charlotte's  illness,  and 
other  mishaps,  had  swept  away  poor 
Philip's  little  savings.  It  was  deter- 
mined that  we  would  let  the  elegant- 
ly furnished  apartments  on  the  first 
floor.  You  might  have  fancied  the 
proud  Mr.  Firmin  rather  repugnant 
to  such  a  raeasui'e.  And  so  he  was 
on  the  score  of  convenience,  but  of 
dignity,  not  a  whit.  To  this  day,  if 
necessity  called,  Philip  would  turn  a 
mangle  with  perfect  gravity.  I  be- 
lieve the  thought  of  Mrs.  General 
Baynes's  horror  at  the  idea  of  her 
son-in-law  letting  lodgings  greatly 
soothed  and  comforted  Philip.     The 


lodgings  were  absolutely  taken  by 
our  country  acquaintance,  Miss  Py- 
bus,  wlio  was  corning  up  for  the  May 
meetings,  and  whom  we  persuaded 
(Heaven  be  good  to  us!)  that  she 
would  find  a  most  desirable  quiet  resi- 
dence in  the  house  of  a  man  with 
three  squalling  children.  Miss  P. 
came,  then,  with  my  wife  to  look  at 
the  apartments ;  and  we  allured  her 
by  describing  to  her  the  delightful 
musical  services  at  the  Foundling 
hard  by  ;  and  she  was  very  much 
pleased  with  Mrs.  Philip,  and  did  not 
even  wince  at  the  elder  children, 
whose  pretty  faces  won  the  kind  old 
lady's  heart :  and  I  am  ashamed  to 
say  we  were  mum  about  the  baby : 
and  Pybus  was  going  to  close  for  the 
lodgings,  when  Philip  burst  out  of  his 
little  room,  without  his  coat,  I  be- 
lieve, and  objurgated  a  little  printer's 
boy,  who  was  sitting  in  the  hall, 
waiting  for  some  "  copy  "  regarding 
which  he  had  made  a  blunder ;  and 
Philip  used  such  violent  language  to- 
wards the  little  lazy  boy,  that  Pybus 
said  she  "  never  could  think  of  taking 
apartments  in  that  house,"  and  hur- 
ried thence  in  a  panic.  When  Bran- 
don heard  of  this  project  of  letting 
lodgings,  she  was  in  a  fury.  She 
might  let  lodgin's,  but  it  was  n't  for 
Philip  to  do  so.  "  Let  lodgin's,  in- 
deed !  Buy  a  broom,  and  sweep  a 
crossin' !  "  Brandon  always  thought 
Charlotte  a  poor-spirited  creature, 
and  the  way  she  scolded  Mrs.  Firmin 
about  this  transaction  was  not  a  little 
amusing.  Charlotte  was  not  angry. 
She  liked  the  scheme  as  little  as 
Brandon.  No  other  pei-son  ever 
asked  for  lodgings  in  Charlotte's 
house.  May  and  its  meetings  came 
to  an  end.  The  old  ladies  went  back 
to  their  country  towns.  The  mission- 
aries returned  to  Caffraria.  (Ah! 
where  are  the  pleasant  -  looking 
Quakeresses  of  our  youth,  with  their 
comely  faces,  and  pretty  dove-colored 
robes  ?  They  say  the  goodly  sect  is 
dwindling,  dwindling. )  The  Quaker- 
esses went  out  of  town :  then  the 
fashionable  world    began    to  move; 


THE   ADVENTUHKS   OF   PHILIP. 


42  i) 


the  Parliament  went  out  of  towti. 
Til  a  word,  evervlioly  who  couM 
made  away  for  a  holiday,  whilst  jioor 
Phihp  remained  at  his  work,  sni])- 
pinj;  and  pastin<^-  his  para^raj)hs,  and 
doiiij^  his  humble  druduery. 

A  sojourn  on  the  sea-shore  was 
prescribed  by  Dr.  Goodenou^h,  as 
absolutely  necessary  for  Charlotte  and 
her  young  ones,  and  when  Thilip 
pleaded  certain  cogent  reasons  why 
the  family  could  not  take  the  medicine 
prescribed  by  the  Doctor,  that  eccen- 
tric physician  had  recourse  to  the 
same  pocket-book  which  we  have 
known  him  to  produce  on  a  former 
occasion  ;  and  took  from  it,  for  what 
I  know,  some  of  the  very  same  notes 
which  he  had  formerly  given  to  the 
Little  Sister.  "  I  suppose  you  may 
as  well  have  them  as  that  rascal 
. Hunf?"  said  the  Doctor,  scowling 
very  fiercely.  "  Don't  tell  vie.  Stuff 
and  nonsense.  Pooh  !  Pay  me  when 
you  are  a  rich  man  ! "  And  this 
Samaritan  had  jumped  into  his  car- 
riage, and  was  gone,  before  Philip  or 
Mrs.  Philip  could  say  a  word  of 
thanks.  Look  at  him  as  he  is  going 
off.  See  the  green  brousrham  drive 
away,  and  turn  westward,  and  mark 
it  well.  A  shoe  go  after  thee,  John 
Goodenough ;  we  shall  see  thee  no 
more  in  this  story.  You  are  not  in 
the  secret,  good  reader :  but  I,  who 
have  been  living  Avith  certain  people 
for  many  months  past,  and  have  a 
hearty  liking  foe  some  of  them,  grow 
very  soft  when  the  hour  for  shaking 
hands  comes,  to  think  we  are  to  meet 
no  more.  Go  to !  when  this  tale  be- 
gan, and  for  some  months  after,  a  pair 
of  kind  old  eyes  used  to  read  these 
pages,  which  are  now  closed  in  the 
sleep  appointed  for  all  of  us.  And  so 
page  is  turned  after  page,  and  behold 
Finis  and  the  volume's  end. 

So  Philip  and  his  young  folks  came 
down  to  Periwinkle  Bay,  where  we 
were  staying,  and  the  girls  in  the  two 
families  nursed  the  baby,  and  the 
child  and  mother  got  heahh  and  com- 
fort from  the  fresh  air,  and  Mr.  Mug- 
ford,  —  who  helieves  himself  to  be  the 


finest  sub-editor  in  the  world,  and  I 
rail  tell  you  there  is  a  great  art  in 
siili-cditiiig  a  pajier,  —  Mr.  Mugford, 
1  say,  took  Philip's  scissors  and  jiastc- 
l)ot,  whilst  the  latter  cnjovcd  his 
holiday.  And  J.  J.  Hidley,'  K.  A., 
came  and  joined  us  presently,  and  we 
had  many  sketching-parties,  and  my 
drawings  of  the  various  points  about 
the  bay,  viz.  Lobster  Head,  the  Mol- 
lusc Rocks,  &c.,  &c.,  are  considered 
to  be  very  spirited,  though  my  little 
boy  (who  certainly  has  not  his  lather's 
taste  for  art)  mistook  for  the  rock  a 
really  caj)ital  portrait  of  Philip,  in  a 
gray  hat  and  paletot,  sprawling  on 
the  sand. 

Some  twelve  miles  inland  from  the 
bay  is  the  little  town  of  AVhij)ham 
]\Iarket,  and  Whipham  skirts  the 
park  palings  of  that  castle  where 
J.ord  Kingwood  had  lived,  and  wlurc 
Philip's  mother  was  born  and  bred. 
There  is  a  statue  of  the  late  lord  in 
Whipham  market-])la(  e.  Could  ho 
have  had  his  will,  tlie  borough  would 
have  continued  to  return  two  Members 
to  Parliament,  as  in  the  good  old 
times  before  us.  In  ihat  ancieni  and 
grass-grown  little  place,  where  }our 
footsteps  echo  as  you  pass  through 
the  street,  where  you  hear  distinctly 
the  creaking  of  the  sign  of  the  "  liliig- 
wood  Arms  "  hotel  and  posting-house, 
and  the  opposition,  creaking  of  the 
"  Ram  Inn  "  over  the  way,  —  where 
the  half-pay  captain,  the  curate,  and 
the  medical  man  stand  before  the. fly- 
blown window-blind  of  the  "  Riii^- 
wood  Institute "  and  survey  the 
strangers,  —  there  is  still  a  resjiect 
felt  for  the  memory  of  the  great  lord 
who  dwelt  behind  the  oaks  in  yonder 
hall.  He  had  his  faults.  His  Lord- 
ship's life  was  not  that  of  an  anchorite. 
The  companv  his  Lordship  kejit,  es- 
pecially in  liis  latter  days,  was  not 
of  that  select  description  which  a 
nobleman  of  his  Lordship's  rank 
might  command.  But  he  was  a  good 
friend  to  Whipham.  He  was  a  good 
landlord  to  a  good  tenant.  If  he  had 
his  will,  Whijjhain  would  have  kept 
its  own.     His  Lordship  paid  half  tho 


430 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


expense  after  the  burning  of  the  town- 
hall.  He  was  an  arbitrary  man,  cer- 
t'inly,  and  he  flogged  Alderman 
Duffle  before  his  own  shop,  but  he 
apologized  for  it  most  handsome  after- 
wards. Would  the  gentleman  like 
port  or  sherry  ?  Claret  not  called  for 
in  Whipham  ;  not  at  all :  and  no  fish, 
because  all  the  fish  at  Periwinkle  Bay 
is  bought  up  and  goes  to  London. 
Such  were  the  remarks  made  by  the 
landlord  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms  "  to 
three  cavaliers  who  entered  the  hos- 
telry. And  you  may  be  sure  he  told 
us  about  Lord  Ringwood's  death  in 
the  post-chaise  as  he  came  from  Tur- 
reys  Regum ;  and  how  his  Lordship 
went  through  them  gates  (pointing  to 
a  pair  of  gates  and  lodges  which 
skirt  the  town),  and  was  drove  up  to 
the  castle  and  laid  in  state ;  and  his 
Lordship  never  would  take  the  rail- 
way, never  ;  and  he  always  travelled 
like  a  nobleman,  and  when  he  came 
to  a  hotel  and  changed  horses,  he  al- 
ways called  for  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
only  took  a  glass,  and  sometimes  not 
even  that.  And  the  present  Sir  John 
has  kept  no  company  here  as  yet ; 
and  they  say  he  is  close  of  his  money, 
they  say  he  is.  And  this  is  certain, 
Whipham  have  n't  seen  much  of  it, 
Whipham  have  n't. 

We  went  into  the  inn  yard,  which 
may  have  been  once  a  stirring  place, 
and  then  sauntered  up  to  the  park 
gate,  surmounted  by  the  supporters 
and  armorial  bearings  of  the  Ring- 
woods.  "  I  wonder  whether  my  poor 
mother  came  out  of  that  gate  when 
she  eloped  with  my  father  1 "  said 
Philip.  "  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  " 
The  great  gates  were  shut.  The 
westering  sun  cast  shadows  over  the 
sward  where  here  and  there  the  deer 
were  browsing,  and  at  some  mile  dis- 
tance lay  the  house,  with  its  towers 
and  porticos  and  vanes  flaming  in  the 
sun.  The  smaller  gate  was  open,  and 
a  girl  was  standing  by  the  lodge  door. 
Was  the  house  to  be  seen  ? 

"  Yes,"  says  a  little  red-cheeked 
girl,  with  a  courtesy. 

"  No ! "    calls  out  a   harsh  voice 


from  within,  and  an  old  woman 
comes  out  from  the  lodge  and  looks 
at  us  fiercely.  "  Nobody  is  to  go  to 
the  house.     The  family  is  a  coming." 

That  was  provoking.  Philip  would 
have  liked  to  behold  the  great  house 
where  his  mother  and  her  ancestors 
were  born. 

"  Marry,  good  dame,"  Philip's 
companion  said  to  the  old  beldam, 
"  this  goodly  gentleman  hath  a  riuht 
of  entrance  to  yonder  castle,  which,  I 
trow,  ye  wot  not  of.  Heard  ye  never 
tell  of  one  Philip  Ringwood,  slain  at 
Busaco's  glorious  ti " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  chaff 
her.  Pen,"  growled  Firmin. 

"  Nay,  and  she  knows  not  Philip 
Ringwood's  grandson,"  the  other  wag 
continued,  in  a  softened  tone.  "  Tiiis 
will  convince  her  of  our  right  to  en- 
ter. Canst  recognize  this  image  of 
your  queen  1 " 

"  Well,  1  suppose  'ee  can  go  up," 
said  the  old  woman,  at  the  sight  of 
this  talisman.  "  There  's  only  two  of 
them  staying  there,  and  they  're  out 
a  drivin'." 

Philip  was  bent  on  seeing  the  halls 
of  his  ancestors.  Gray  and  huge, 
with  towers,  and  vanes,  and  porticos, 
they  lay  before  us  a  mile  off",  separated 
from  us  by  a  streak  of  glistening 
river.  A  great  chestnut  avenue  led 
up  to  the  river,  and  in  the  dappled 
grass  the  deer  were  browsing. 

You  know  the  house  of  course. 
There  is  a  picture  of  it  in  Watts, 
bearing  date  1783.  A  gentleman  in 
a  cocked  hat  and  pigtail  is  rowing  a 
lady  in  a  boat  on  the  shining  river. 
Another  nobleman  in  a  cocked  hat  is 
angling  in  the  glistening  river  from 
the  bridge,  over  which  a  post-chaiso 
is  passing. 

"  Yes,  the  place  is  like  enough," 
said  Philip ;  "  but  I  miss  the  post- 
chaise  going  over  the  bridge,  and  the 
lady  in  the  punt  with  the  tall  parasol. 
Don't  you  remember  the  print  in  our 
housekeeper's  room  in  Old  Parr 
Street  ?  My  poor  mother  used  to 
tell  me  about  the  house,  and  I  ima- 
gined it  grander  than  the  palace  of 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 


431 


Aladdin.  It  is  a  very  handsome 
house,"  Philip  went  on.  " '  It  ex- 
tends two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  by 
seventy-five,  and  consists  of  a  rustic 
basement  and  principal  story,  with  an 
attic  in  the  centre,  the  whole  executed 
in  stone.  The  grand  front  towards 
the  park  is  adorned  with  a  noble  por- 
tico of  the  Corinthian  order,  and 
may  with  propriety  be  considered  one 
of  the  finest  elevations  in  the  — .'  I 
tell  you  I  am  quoting  out  of  Watts's 
'  Seats  of  the  Nobility  and  Gentry,' 
published  by  John  and  Josiah  Boy- 
dell,  and  lying  in  our  drawing-room. 
Ah,  dear  me !  I  painted  the  boat  and 
the  lady  and  gentleman  in  the  draw- 
ing-room copy,  and  my  father  boxed 
my  ears,  and  my  mother  cried  out, 
poor  dear  soul !  And  this  is  the 
river,  is  it  ?  And  over  this  the  post- 
chaise  went  with  the  club-tailed 
horses,  and  here  was  the  pig-tailed 
gentleman  fishing.  It  gives  me  a 
queer  sensation,"  says  Pliilip,  stand- 
ing on  the  bridge,  and  stretching  out 
his  big  arms.  "  Yes,  there  are  the 
two  people  in  the  punt  by  the  rushes. 
I  can  see  them,  but  you  can't ;  and  I 
hope,  sir,  you  will  have  good  sport." 
And  here  he  took  off  his  hat  to  an 
imaginary  gentleman  supposed  to  be 
angling  from  the  balustrade  for 
ghostly  gudgeon.  We  reach  the 
house  presently.  We  ring  at  the 
door  in  the  basement  under  the  por- 
tico. The  porter  demurs,  and  says 
some  of  the  family  is  down,  but  they 
are  out,  to  be  sure.  The  same  half- 
crown  argument  answers  with  him 
which  persuaded  the  keeper  at  the 
lodge.  We  go  through  the  show- 
rooms of  the  stately  but  somewhat 
faded  and  melancholy  palace.  In  the 
cedar  dining-room  there  hangs  the 
grim  portrait  of  the  late  Earl;  and 
that  fair-haired  officer  in  red?  that 
must  be  Philip's  grandfather.  And 
those  two  slim  girls  embracing,  surely 
those  are  his  mother  and  his  aunt. 
Philip  walks  softly  through  the  va- 
cant rooms.  He  gives  the  porter  a 
gold  piece  ere  he  goes  but  of  the  great 
hall,  forty  feet,  cube,  ornamented  with 


statues  brought  from  Rome,  by  John 
first  Baron,  namely,  Heliogabalus, 
Nero's  mother,  a  jiricstess  of  Isis,  and 
a  river  god ;  the  pictures  over  the 
doors  by  Podimento  ;  the  ceiling  by 
Leotardi,  &c. ;  and  in  a  window  in 
the  great  hall  there  is  a  table  with  a 
visitors'  book,  in  which  Philip  writes 
his  name.  As  we  went  away,  we  met 
a  carriage  which  drove  rapidly  to- 
wards the  house,  and  which  no  doubt 
contained  the  members  of  the  Eing- 
wood  family,  regarding  whom  the 
porteress  had  spoken.  After  the  fam- 
ily differences  previously  related,  we 
did  not  care  to  face  these  kinsfolks  of 
Philip,  and  passed  on  quickly  in  twi- 
light beneath  the  rustling  umbrage  of 
the  chestnuts.  J.  J.  saw  a  hundred 
fine  pictorial  effects  as  we  walked ; 
the  palace  reflected  in  the  water ;  the 
dappled  deer  under  the  checkered 
shadow  of  the  trees.  It  was,  "  O 
what  a  jolly  bit  of  color,"  and,  "  I 
say,  look,  how  well  that  old  woman's 
red  cloak  comes  in ! "  and  so  ibrth. 
Painters  never  seem  tired  of  their 
work.  At  seventy  they  are  students 
still,  patient,  docile,  happy.  May  we 
too,  my  good  sir,  live  lor  fourscore 
years,  and  never  be  too  old  to  learn  ! 
The  walk,  the  brisk  accompanying 
conversation,  amid  stately  scenery 
around,  brought  us  with  good  appe- 
tites and  spirits  to  our  inn,  where  we 
were  told  that  dinner  would  be  served 
when  the  omnibus  arrived  from  the 
railway. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the 
"  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street,  is  tlie  "  Ram 
Inn,"  neat  post-chaises  and  farmers' 
ordinary  ;  a  house,  of  which  the  pre- 
tensions seemed  less,  thongh  the  trade 
was  somewhat  more  livtly.  When 
the  tooting  of  the  horn  announced 
the  arrival  of  the  omnibus  from  the 
railway,  I  shonld  think  a  crowd  of  at 
least  fifteen  people  assembled  at 
various  doors  of  the  High  Street 
and  Market.  The  half-pay  captain 
and  the  curate  came  out  from  tho 
"  Ringwood  Atheiucum."  The  doc- 
tor's apprentice  stood  on  the  step  of 


432 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


the  surgery  door,  and  the  surgeon's 
lady  looked  out  from  the  first  floor. 
We  shared  tlie  general  curiosity. 
We  and  the  waiter  stood  at  the  door 
of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms."  We  were 
mortified  to  see  that  of  the  five  per- 
sons conveyed  by  the  'bus,  one  was  a 
tradesman,  who  descended  at  his 
door  (Mr.  Packwood,  the  saddler, 
so  the  waiter  informed  us),  three 
travellers  were  discharged  at  the 
"  Ram,"  and  only  one  came  to  us. 

"  Mostly  bagmen  goes  to  the 
'  Ram,' "  the  waiter  said,  with  a 
scornful  air  ;  and  these  bagmen,  and 
their  bags,  quitted  the  omnibus. 

Only  one  passenger  remained  for 
the  "  Ringwood  Arms  Hotel,"  and 
he  presently  descended  under  the 
parte  coc.here ;  and  the  omnibus  —  I 
own,  with  regret,  it  was  but  a  one- 
horse  machine,  —  drove  rattling  into 
the  court-yard,  where  the  bells  of  the 
"  Star,"  the  "  George,"  the  "  Rod- 
ney," the  "  Dolphin,"  and  so  on,  had 
once  been  wont  to  jingle,  and  the 
court  had  echoed  with  the  noise  and 
clatter  of  hoofs  and  hostlers,  and  the 
cries  of  "  First  and  second,  turn 
out." 

Who  was  the  merry-faced  little 
gentleman  in  black,  who  got  out  of 
the  omnibus,  and  cried,  when  he  saw 
us,  "  What,  i)ou  here  ?  "  It  was  Mr. 
Bradgate,  that  lawyer  of  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  with  whom  we  made  a  brief 
acquaintance  just  after  his  Lordship's 
death.  "  What,  you  here  1  "  cries 
Bradgate,  then,  to  Philip.  "  Come 
down  about  this  business,  of  course  ? 
Very  glad  that  you  and  —  and  certain 
parties  have  made  it  up.  Thought 
you  were  n't  friends." 

What  business?  What  parties  ? 
We  had  not  heard  the  news  ?  We 
had  only  come  over  from  Periwinkle 
Bay  by  chance,  in  order  to  see  the 
house. 

"  How  very  singular  !  Did  you 
htieet  the — the  people  who  were  stay- 
ing there  ? " 

We  said  we  had  seen  a  carriage 
bass,  but  did  not  remark  who  was  in 
It.     What,  however,  was  the  news  ■? 


Well.  It  would  be  known  immedi- 
ately, and  would  appear  in  Tuesday's 
Gazette.  The  news  was  that  8ir 
John  Ringwood  was  going  to  take  a 
peerage,  and  that  the  seat  for  Whip- 
ham  would  be  vacant.  And  here- 
with our  friend  produced  from  his 
travelling  bag  a  proclamation,  which 
he  read  to  us,  and  which  was  ad- 
dressed — 

"  To  the  worthy  and  independent 
Electors  of  the  Borough  of  Ring- 
wood. 

"London,  Wednesday. 
"  Gentlemen, — A  gracious  Sover- 
eign having  been  pleased  to  order  that 
the  family  of  Ringwood  should  con- 
tinue to  be  represented  in  the  House 
of  Peers,  I  take  leave  of  my  friends 
and  constituents  who  have  given  me 
their  kind  confidence  hitherto,  and 
promise  them  that  my  regard  for  them 
will  never  cease,  or  my  interest  in  the 
town  and  neighborhood  where  my 
family  have  dwelt  for  many  centuries. 
The  late  lamented  Lord  Ringwood's 
brother  died  in  the  service  of  his 
Sovereign  in  Portugal,  following  the 
same  flag  under  which  his  ancestors 
for  centuries  have  fought  and  bled. 
My  own  son  serves  the  Crown  in  a 
civil  capacity.  It  was  natural  that 
one  of  our  name  and  family  should 
continue  the  relations  which  so  long 
have  subsisted  between  us  and 
this  loyal,  affectionate,  but  indepen- 
dent borough.  Mr.  Ringwood's  on- 
erous duties  in  the  office  which  he 
holds  are  sufficient  to  occupy  his 
time.  A  gentleman  united  to  our 
family  by  the  closest  ties  will  offer 
himself  as  a  candidate  for  your 
suffrages  —  " 

"  Why,  who  is  it  ?  He  is  not  go- 
ing to  put  in  Uncle  Twysden,  or  my 
sneak  of  a  cousin  1  " 

"  No,"  says  Mr.  Bradgate. 
"  Well,  bless  my  soul !  he  can't 
mean  me,"  said  Philip.  "  Who  is 
the  dark  horse  he  has  in  his  stable  1  " 
Then  Mr.  Bradgate  laughed. 
"  Dark  horse  you  may  call  him. 
The  new  Member  is  to  be  Grenville 


THE  ADVK^^TUHKS   OF   PHILIP 


433 


Woolcomb,  Esq.,  your  West  India 
relative,  and  no  other." 

Those  who  know  the  extreme  en- 
ergy of  Mr.  P.  Firmin's  langua,i,'c 
when  he  is  excited  may  imagine  the 
explosion  of  Philippine  wrath  which 
ensued  as  our  friend  heard  this  name. 
"  That  miscreant :  that  skinflint : 
that  wealthy  crossing-sweeper :  that 
ignoramus  who  scarce  could  do  more 
than  sign  his  name !  0,  it  was  hor- 
rible, shameful !  Why,  the  man  is 
on  such  ill  terms  with  his  wife  that 
they  say  he  strikes  her.  When  I  see 
him  I  feel  inclined  to  choke  him,  and 
murder  him.  That  brute  going  into 
Parliament,  and  the  republican  Sir 
John  Ringwood  sending  him  there ! 
It 's  monstrous  !  " 

"  Family  arrangements.  Sir  John, 
or,  I  should  say,  my  Lord  Ringwood, 
is  one  of  the  most  affectionate  of 
parents,"  Mr.  Bradgate  remarked. 
"  He  has  a  large  family  by  his  second 
marriage,  and  his  estates  go  to  his 
eldest  son.  We  must  not  quarrel 
with  Lord  Ringwood  for  wishing  to 
provide  for  his  young  ones.  I  don't 
say  that  he  quite  acts  up  to  the  ex- 
treme Iiiberal  principle  of  which  he 
was  once  rather  fond  of  boasting. 
But  if  you  were  offered  a  peerage, 
what  would  you  do  ;  what  would  I 
do  ■?  If  you  wanted  money  for  your 
young  ones,  and  could  get  it,  would 

irou  not  take  it  ?  Come,  come,  don't 
et  us  have  too  much  of  this  Spartan 
virtue!  K  we  were  tried,  my  good 
friend,  we  should  not  be  much  worse 
or  better  than  our  neighbors.  Is  my 
fly  coming,  waiter  1 "  We  asked  Mr. 
Bradgate  to  defer  his  departure,  and 
to  share  our  dinner.  But  he  declined, 
and  said  he  must  go  up  to  the  great 
house,  where  he  and  his  client  had 
plenty  of  business  to  arrange,  and 
where  no  doubt  he  would  stay  for  the 
night.  He  bade  the  inn  servants  put 
his  portmanteau  into  his  carriage 
when  it  came.  "  The  old  Lord  had 
some  famous  port-wine,"  he  said; 
"  I  hope  my  fnends  have  the  key  of 
the  cellar." 
The  waiter  was  just  potting  our 
19 


meal  on  the  table,  as  we  stood  in  the 
bow-wiiido\y  of  tlie  "  Kin.uwood 
Arms  "  c-uffee-rooni,  engaged  in  this 
collo(iiiy.  Hence  we  could  see  the 
street,  and  the  opposition  inn  of  the 
"  Ham,"  wlicre  presently  a  great  ])la- 
card  was  posted.  At  least  a  dozen 
street-boys,  shopmen,  and  rustics 
were  quickly  gathered  round  tliis 
manifesto,  and  we  ourselves  went  out 
to  examine  it.  The  "  Ram  "  pLncard 
denounced,  in  terms  of  unmeasm-ed 
wrath,  the  impudent  attempt  from 
the  Castle  to  dictate  to  the  free  and 
independent  electors  of  tlie  borouizh. 
Freemen  were  invited  not  to  ])rom- 
ise  their  votes ;  to  show  tliem- 
sclves  worthy  of  their  name  ;  to  submit 
to  no  Castle  dictation.  A  country  gen- 
tleman of  property,  of  influence,  of 
liberal  principles, —  no  West-Indian, 
no  Castle  Flunkey,  but  a  Tkue 
English  Gentleman,  would  come 
forward  to  rescue  them  from  the  ty- 
ranny untlcr  which  they  labored. 
On  this  point  the  electors  might  rely 
on  the  word  of  A  Briton. 

"  This  was  brought  down  by  the 
clerk  from  Bedloc's.  He  and  a  news- 
pajjcr  man  came  down  in  the  train 
with  me ;  a  jNIr. " 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  forth  from 
the  "  Ram "  the  newspajxir  man  of 
whom  Mr.  Bradgate  spoke,  —  an  old 
friend  and  comrade  of  Philip,  that 
energetic  man  and  able  rejxjrtcr, 
Phipps  of  the  Daily  Intelligencer, 
who  recognized  Philip,  and  cordially 
greeting  him,  asked  what  he  did 
down  here,  and  supposed  he  had 
come  to  support  his  family. 

Philip  explained  that  we  were 
strangers,  had  come  from  a  neighbor- 
ing watering-place  to  see  the  home 
of  Philip's  ancestors,  and  were  not 
even  aware,  until  then,  that  an  elec- 
tioneering contest  was  pending  in  the 
place,  or  that  Sir  John  Ringwood 
was  about  to  be  promoted  to  the  peer- 
age. Meanwhile,  Mr.  Bradgatc's  fly 
had  driven  out  of  the  hotel  yard  of 
the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  the  law- 
yer, running  to  the  house  for  a  bag  of 
papers,  jumped  into  the  carriage  and 

BIS 


434 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


called   to  the  coachman  to  drive  to 
the  Castle. 

"  Bon  appetit .' "  says  he,  in  a  con- 
fident tone,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  Would  Phipps  dine  with  us  "?  " 
Phipps  whispered,  "  I  am  on  the 
other  side,  and  the  '  Ram '  is  our 
house." 

\ye,  who  were  on  no  side,  entered 
into  the  "  Ringwood  Arras,"  and  sat 
down  to  our  meal,  —  to  the  mutton 
and  the  catsup,  cauliflower  and  pota- 
toes, the  copper-edge  side-dishes,  and 
the  watery  melted  butter,  with  which 
strangers  are  regaled  in  inns  in 
declining  towns.  The  town  badauds, 
who  had  read  the  placard  at  the 
"  Ram,"  now  came  to  peruse  the 
proclamation  in  our  window.  I  dare 
say  thirty  pairs  of  clinking  boots 
stopped  before  the  one  window  and 
the  other,  the  while  we  ate  tough 
mutton  and  drank  fiery  sherry.  And 
J.  J.,  leaving  his  dinner,  sketched 
some  of  the  figures  of  the  townsfolk 
staring  at  the  manifesto,  with  the 
old-fashioned  "  Ram  Inn "  for  a 
background,  —  a  picturesque  gable 
enough. 

Our  meal  was  just  over,  when, 
somewhat  to  our  surprise,  our  friend 
Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer  returned  to 
the  "  Ringwood  Arms."  He  wore  a 
disturbed  countenance.  He  asked 
what  he  could  have  for  dinner? 
Mutton,  neither  hot  nor  cold.  Hum  ! 
That  must  do.  So  he  had  not  been 
invited  to  dine  at  the  Park  ?  We 
rallied  him  with  much  facetiousness 
on  this  disappointment. 

Little  Bradgate's  eyes  started  with 
wrath.  "  What  a  churl  the  little 
black  fellow  is  ! "  he  cried.  "  I  took 
him  his  papers.  I  talked  with  him 
till  dinner  was  laid  in  the  very  room 
where  we  were.  French  beans  and 
neck  of  venison,  —  I  saw  the  house- 
keeper and  his  man  bring  them  in  ! 
And  Mr.  Woolcomb  did  not  so  much 
as  ask  me  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  —  but 
told  me  to  come  again  at  nine  o'clock ! 
Confound  this  mutton,  —  it 's  neither 
hot  nor  cold  I  The  little  skinflint ! 
The  glasses  of   fiery   sherry  which 


Bradgate  now  swallowed  served  rather 
to  choke  than  appease  the  lawyer. 
We  laughed,  and  this  jocularity 
angered  him  more.  "  0,"  said  he, 
"  1  am  not  the  only  person  Woolcomb 
was  rude  to.  He  was  in  a  dreadful 
ill  temper.  He  abused  his  wife  :  and 
when  he  read  somebody's  name  in 
the  strangers'  book,  I  promise  you, 
Firmin,  he  abused  ^o«.  I  had  a  mind 
to  say  to  him,  '  Sir,  Mr.  Firmin  is 
dining  at  the  "  Ringwood  Arms," 
and  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say  of 
him.'  What  india-rubber  mutton 
this  is  !  ^Vhat  villanous  sherry !  Go 
back  to  him  at  nine  o'clock,  in- 
deed !  Be  hanged  to  his  impu- 
dence ! " 

"  You  must  not  abuse  Woolcomb 
before  Firmin,"  said  one  of  our  party. 
"  Philip  is  so  fond  of  his  cousin's 
husband,  that  he  cannot  bear  to  hear 
the  black  man  abused." 

This  was  not  a  very  brilliant  joke, 
but  Phihp  grinned  at  it  with  much 
savage  satisfaction. 

"  Hit  Woolcomb  as  hard  as  you 
please,  he  has  no  friends  here.  Air. 
Bradgate,"  growled  Philip.  "  So  he 
is  rude  to  his  lawyer,  is  he  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  worse  than  the 
old  Earl,"  cried  the  indignant  Brad- 
gate. "  At  least  the  old  man  was  a 
peer  of  England,  and  could  be  a 
gentleman  when  he  wished.  But  to 
be  bullied  by  a  fellow  who  might  be 
a  black  footman,  or  ought  to  be 
sweeping  a  crossing !  It 's  mon- 
strous ! " 

"  Don't  speak  ill  of  a  man  and  a 
brother,  Mr.  Bradgate.  Woolcomb 
can't  help  his  complexion." 

"  But  he  can  help  his  confounded 
impudence,  and  sha'  n't  practise  it  on 
7Jie  !  "  the  attorney  cried. 

As  Bradgate  called  out  from  his 
box,  puflSng  and  fuming,  friend  J.  J. 
was  scribbling  in  the  little  sketch-book 
which  he  always  carried.  He  smiled 
over  his  work.  "  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  the  Black  Prince  well  enough.  I 
have  often  seen  him  driving  his  chest- 
nut mares  in  the  Park,  with  that 
bewildered  white  wife  by  his  side.    I 


THE   ADVEXTUl^ES   01-    PHILIP. 


435 


am   sure   that   woman   is   miserable, 
and,  poor  thing  —  " 

"  Serve  her  right !  What  did  an 
English  lady  me;m  by  marrying  such 
a  fellow  !  "  cries  Bradgate. 

"  A  fellow  who  does  not  ask  his 
lawyer  to  dinner  ! "  remarks  one  of 
the  company ;  pcrhaj)s  the  reader's 
very  humble  servant.  "  But  what  an 
imprudent  lawyer  he  has  ciiosen,  —  a 
lawyer  who  speaks  his  mind." 

"  I  have  spoken  my  mind  to  his 
betters,  and  be  hanged  to  him  !  Do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  be  afraid 
of  him  i  "  bawls  the  irascible  solicit- 
or. 

"  Contempsi  CatilincB  gladios,  —  do 
you  remember  the  old  quotation  at 
school,  Philip  ?  "  And  here  there 
was  a  break  in  our  conversation,  for 
chancing  to  look  at  friend  J.  J.'s 
sketch-book,  we  saw  that  he  had 
made  a  wonderful  little  drawing, 
representing  Woolcomb  and  Wool- 
comb's  wife,  grooms,  phaeton,  and 
chestnut  mares,  as  they  were  to  be 
seen  any  afternoon  in  Hyde  Park, 
during  the  London  season. 

Admirable  !  Capital !  Everybody 
at  once  knew  the  likeness  of  the  dusky 
charioteer.  Iracundus  himself  smiled 
and  sniggered  over  it.  "  Unless  you 
behave  yourself,  Mr.  Bradgate,  Ridley 
will  make  a  picture  of  you,"  says 
Philip.  Bradgate  made  a  comical 
face,  and  retreated  into  his  box,  of 
which  he  pretended  to  draw  the 
curtain.  But  the  sociable  little  man 
did  not  long  remain  in  his  retirement ; 
he  emerged  from  it  in  a  short  time, 
his  wine  decanter  in  his  hand,  and 
joined  our  little  party  ;  and  then  we 
fell  to  talking  of  old  times  ;  and  we 
all  remembered  a  famous  drawing  by 
H.  B.,  of  the  late  Earl  of  Ringwood, 
in  the  old-fashioned  swallow-tailed 
coat  and  tight  trousers,  on  the  old- 
fashioned  horse,  with  the  old-fashion- 
ed groom  behind  him,  as  he  used  to  be 
seen  pounding  along  Rotten  Row. 

"  1  speak  my  mind,  do  I  ?  "  says 
Mr.  Bradgate,  presently.  "  I  know 
somebody  who  spoke  his  mind  to 
that  old  maji,  and  who  would  have 


been  lietter  off  if  he  had    held  his 
tongue." 

"  Come  tell  me,  Bradgate,"  cried 
Philip.  "  It  is  all  over  and  past  now. 
Had  Lord  Riiii^wood  left  nic  some- 
thing ;  I  declare  1  thought  at  one 
time  that  he  intended  to  do  so." 

"  Kay,  has  not  your  friend  here 
been  rei)iiking  me  Yor  speaking  my 
mind  '.  I  am  going  to  I^  as  mum 
as  a  mouse.  Let  us  talk  aliout  the 
election,"  and  the  provoking  law- 
yer would  say  no  more  on  a  subject 
possessing  a  dismal  interest  ibr  ijoor 
Phil. 

"  I  have  no  more  right  to  repine," 
said  that  idiiloso])her,  "  than  a  man 
would  have  who  dri  w  nundier  x  in 
the  lottery,  when  the  winning  ticket 
was  nunikr  ^j.  I^t  us  talk,  as  you 
say,  about  the  election.  AVho  is  to 
opjiose  Mr.  Woolcomb  ■?  " 

Mr.  Bradgate  believed  a  neighbor- 
ing squire,  Mr.  Hornblow,  was  to  Ije 
the  candidate  put  forward  against  the 
Ringwood  nominee. 

"  Honiblow  !  what,  Hornblow  of 
Greyfriars  'J  "  cries  Philip.  "  A  bet- 
ter "fellow  never  lived.  In  this  case 
he  shall  have  our  vote  and  interest ; 
and  1  think  m'c  ought  to  go  over  and 
take  another  dinner  at  the  '  Ram.'  " 

The  new  candidate  actually  turned 
out  to  be  Philip's  old  school  and 
college  friend,  Mr.  Hornblow.  After 
dinner  we  met  him  Avith  a  staff  of 
canvassers  on  the  tramp  through 
the  little  town.  Mr.  Hornblow 
was  paying  his  respects  to  such 
tradesmen  as  had  their  shops  yet 
open.  Next  day  being  market-day, 
he  proposed  to  canvass  the  market- 
people.  "  If  1  meet  the  black  man, 
Firmin,"  said  the  burly  .scpiire,  "  I 
think  I  can  chaff  him  off  his  legs. 
He  is  a  bad  one  at  s])eaking,  I  am 
told." 

As  if  the  tongue  of  Plato  would 
have  prevailed  in  Whipham  and 
against  the  nominee  of  the  great 
house !  The  hour  was  late  to  Ixj 
sure,  but  the  companions  of  Mr. 
Hornblow  on  his  canvass  augured  ill 
of  his  success  after  half  an  hour's  walk 


436 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 


at  his  heels.  Baker  Jones  would  not 
promise  nohow :  that  meant  Jones 
would  vote  for  the  Castle,  Mr.  Horn- 
blow's  legal  aide-de-t"amp,  Mr.  Bat- 
ley,  was  forced  to  allow.  Butcher 
Brown  was  hnving  his  tea,  —  his 
shrill-voiced  wife  told  us,  looking 
out  from  her  glazed  back  parlor; 
Brown  would  vote  for  the  Castle. 
Saddler  Biiggs  would  see  about  it. 
Grocer  Adams  fairly  said  he  would 
vote  against  us,  —  against  us?  — 
against  Homblow,  whose  part  we 
were  taking  already.  I  fear  the  flat- 
tering promises  of  support  of  a  great 
body  of  free  and  unbiassed  electors, 
which  had  induced  Mr.  Hornblow  to 
come  forward  and,  &c.,  w€re  but 
inventions  of  that  little  lawyer,  Bat- 
ley,  who  found  his  account  in  having 
a  contest  in  the  borough.  When  the 
polling-day  came,  —  you  see,  I  dis- 
dain to  make  any  mysteries  in  this 
simple  and  veracious  story,  —  Mr. 
Grenville  Woolcomb,  whose  so- 
licitor and  agent  spoke  for  him,  — 
Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb,  who  could 
not  spell  or  speak  two  sentences  of 
decent  English,  and  whose  character 
for  dulness,  ferocity,  penuriousncss, 
jealousy,  almost  fatuity,  was  noto- 
rious to  all  the  world,  —  was  returned 
by  an  immense  majority,  and  the 
country  gentlemen  brought  scarce  a 
hundred  votes  to  the  poll. 

We  who  were  in  no  wise  engaged 
in  the  contest,  nevertheless  found 
amusement  from  it  in  a  quiet  country 
place  where  litUe  else  was  stirring. 
vVe  came  over  once  or  twice  fi*om 
Periwinkle  Bay.  We  mounted  Hom- 
hlow's  colors  openly.  We  drove  up 
ostentatiously  to  the  "  Ram,"  forsak- 
ing the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  where 
Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb's  Com- 
mittee-Room was  now  established 
in  that  very  coffee-room  where  we 
had  dined  in  Mr.  Bradgate's  compa- 
ny. We  warmed  in  the  contest.  We 
met  Bradgate  and  his  principal  more 
than  once,  and  our  .Montagues  and 
Capulets  defied  each  other  in  the 
public  street.  It  was  fine  to  see 
Philip's  great  figure  and  noble  scowl 


when  he  met  Woolcomb  at  the  can- 
vass. Gleams  of  mulatto  hate  quiver- 
ed from  the  eyes  of  the  little  captain. 
Darts  of  fire  flashed  from  beneath 
Philip's  eyebrows  as  he  ellxjwed  his 
way  forward,  and  hustled  Woolcomb 
off  the  pavement.  Mr.  Philip  never 
disguised  any  sentiment  of  his.  "  Hate 
the  little  ignorant,  spiteful,  vulgar,  av- 
aricious beast  i  Of  course  I  hate  him, 
and  I  should  like  to  pitch  him  into 
the  river."  "  O  Philip  ! "  Charlotte 
pleaded.  But  there  was  no  reason- 
ing with  this  savage  when  in  wrath. 
I  deplored,  though  perhaps  I  was 
amused  by,  his  ferotity. 

The  local  paper  on  our  side  was 
filled  with  withering  epigrams  against 
this  poor  Woolcomb,  of  which,  I 
suspect,  Philip  was  the  author.  I 
think  I  know  that  fierce  style  and 
tremendous  invective.  In  the  man 
whom  he  hates  he  can  see  no  good : 
and  in  his  friend  no  fault.  When  we 
met  Bradgate  apart  from  his  princi- 
pal, we  were  friendly  enough.  He 
said  we  had  no  chance  in  the  contest. 
He  did  not  conceal  his  dislike  and 
contempt  for  his  client  He  amused 
us  in  later  days  (when  he  actually 
became  Philip's  man  of  law)  by  re- 
counting anecdotes  of  Woolcomb,  his 
fury,  his  jealousy,  his  avarice,  his  bru- 
tal behavior.  Poor  Agnes  had  mar- 
ried for  money,  and  he  gave  her  none. 
Old  Twysden,  in  giving  his  daughter 
to  this  man,  had  hoped  to  have  the 
run  of  a  fine  house  ;  to  ride  in  Wool- 
comb's  carriages,  and  feast  at  his 
table.  But  Woolcomb  was  so  stingy 
that  he  grudged  the  meat  which  his 
wife  ate,  and  would  give  none  to  her 
relations.  He  turned  those  relations 
oat  of  doors.  Talbot  and  Ringwood 
Twysden,  he  drove  them  both  away. 
He  lost  a  child,  because  he  would  not 
send  for  a  physician.  His  wife  never 
forgave  him  that  meanness.  Her 
hatred  for  him  became  open  and 
avowed.  They  parted,  and  she  led 
a  life  into  which  we  will  look  no  fur- 
ther. She  quarrelled  with  parents  as 
well  as  husband.  "  Why,"  she  said, 
"  did  they  sell  me   to  that   man  f  " 


THE   ADVKNTURKS   OF    PIIILir. 


437 


Why  did  she  sell  herself?  She  re- 
quired little  perj^uasion  ft'oni  father 
and  mother  wlien  she  coniiiiittcd 
that  crime.  To  he  sure,  they  liad 
educated  her  so  well  to  worldlincs-;, 
that  when  the  occasion  came  she 
was  ready. 

We  used  to  see  this  luckless  wo- 
man, with  her  horses  and  servants 
decked  with  AVooleomb's  rihbons, 
drivin<r  about  the  little  town,  and 
making  feeble  eftbrts  to  canvass  tlie 
towns-people.  They  all  knew  how 
she  and  her  husband  quarrelled.  He- 
ports  came  very  quickly  from  the 
Hall  to  the  town.  Wooieonib  had 
not  been  at  Whiphain  a  week  when 
people  began  to  hoot  and  jeer  at  hiin 
as  he  passed  in  his  carriage.  "  Think 
how  weak  you  must  be,"  Bradgate 
said,  "when  we  can  win  with  this 
horse  !  I  wish  he  would  stay  away, 
though.  We  could  manage  much 
better  without  him.  He  has  insulted 
I  don't  know  many  free  and  indepen- 
dent electors,  and  infuriated  others, 
because  he  will  not  give  them  beer 
when  they  come  to  the  house.  If 
Woolcomb  would  stay  in  the  place, 
and  we  could  have  the  election  next 
year,  I  think  your  man  might  win. 
But,  as  it  is,  he  may  as  well  give  in, 
and  spare  the  expense  of  a  poll." 
Meanwhile,  Hornblow  was  very  con- 
fident. We  believe  what  we  wish  to 
believe.  It  is  marvellons  what  faith 
an  enthusiastic  electioneering  agent 
can  inspire  in  his  client.  At  any 
rate,  if  Hornblow  did  not  win  this 
time,  he  would  at  the  next  election. 
The  old  Ringwood  domination  in 
Whipham  was  gone  henceforth  for- 
ever. 

When  the  day  of  election  an-ived, 
you  may  be  sure  we  came  over  from 
Teriwinkle  Bay  to  see  the  battle.  By 
this  time  Philip  had  grown  so  enthu- 
siastic in  Hornblow's  cause — (Pliiip, 
by  the  way,  never  would  allow  the 
possibility  of  a  defeat)  —  ttiat  he  had 
his  children  decked  in  the  Hornblow 
ribbons,  and  drove  from  the  bay, 
Wearing  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pan- 
cake.    He,  I,  and  Ridley  the  painter. 


went  together  iu  a  dog-cart.  We  were 
hopeful,  though  we  knew  the  eiieniv 
was  stix)nj^ ;  and  cheerful,  though, 
vrv  we  had  driven  five  miles,  the  raiu 
began  to  fall. 

riiili|)  was  very  anxious  about  a 
certain  great  roll  of  paper  which  we 
carried  with  ns.  When  I  asked  him 
what  it  contained,  he  said  it  was  a 
gun  ;  whii  h  was  absurd.  Ridley 
smiled  in  his  silent  way.  When  the 
rain  came,  riiilip  cast'  a  cloak  over 
his  artillery,  and  sheltered  his  pow. 
der.  We  little  guessed  at  the  timt 
what  strange  game  his  shot  woul(* 
bring  down. 

When  we  reached  Whipham  the 
polling  bad  continued  for  some  hours. 
The  confounded  black  miscreant,  as 
Philip  called  his  cousin's  husband, 
was  at  the  head  of  the  poll,  and  with 
every  hour  his  majority  increased. 
The  free  and  independent  electors  did 
not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  influenced 
by  Phili])'s  artirles  in  the  county  pa- 
per, or  by  the  placards  which  our 
side  had  pasted  over  the  little  town, 
and  in  which  ii-ecmcn  were  called  up- 
on to  do  their  duty,  to  sujjport  a  fine 
old  Engli>h  gentleman,  to  submit  to 
no  Castle  nominee,  and  so  forth. 
The  pressure  of  the  Ringwood  stew- 
ard and  t)ailitfs  was  too  strong. 
However  much  they  disliked  the  black 
man,  tradesman  after  tradesman,  and 
tenant  alter  tenant,  came  uj)  to  vote 
for  him.  Our  drums  and  trumpets 
at  the  "  Ram  "  blew  loud  defiance  to 
the  brass  baud  at  the  "Ringwood 
Arms."  From  our  balcony,  I  flatter 
myself,  we  made  much  finer  s])eeches 
than  the  Hmgwooil  people  could  de- 
liver. Hornblow  was  a  popular  man 
in  the  county.  Wiien  h.'  came  for- 
ward to  S])eak,  the  market  jdace  echo- 
ed with  ai)iilause.  The  farmers  and 
small  tradesmen  tombed  their  hats  to 
him  kiudiv,  but  slunk  off  sadly  to  the 
polling-booth,  and  voted  according 
to  order.  A  fine,  healthy,  liandsome, 
red-cheeked  s(iiiire,  our  (■hami)ion's 
personal  appearance  enlisted  all  tho 
ladies  in  his  favor. 

•'  If  the  two  men,"  bawled  Thdip, 


438 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


from  the  "Ram"  window,  "could 
decide  the  contest  with  their  coats 
off  before  the  market-house  yonder, 
which  do  you  think  would  win,  —  the 
fair  man  or  the  darkey?"  "(Loud 
cries  of  Hornblow  foriver !  "  or  "  Mr. 
Philip,  we'll  have 3/eM'.")  "But  you 
see,  my  friends,  Mr.  Woolcomb  does 
not  like  a  fair  fight.  Why  does  n't 
he  show  at  the  '  Ringwood  Arms ' 
and  speak  ?  I  don't  believe  he  can 
sjjCiik,  —  not  English.  Are  you  men  ? 
Are  you  Englishmen  ?  Are  you 
white  slaves  to  be  sold  to  that  fel- 
low?" (Immense  uproar.  Mr. 
Einch,  the  Ringwood  agent,  in  vain 
tries  to  get  a  hearing  from  the  bal- 
cony of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms.") 
"  Why  does  not  Sir  John  Ringwood 
—  my  Lord  Ringwood  now  —  come 
down  amongst  his  tenantry,  and  back 
the  man  he  has  sent  down  ?  I  sup- 
pose he  is  ashamed  to  look  his  ten- 
ants in  the  face.  I  should  be,  if  I  or- 
dered them  to  do  such  a  degrading 
job.  You  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am 
a  Ringwood  myself.  My  grandfather 
lies  buried  —  no,  not  buried — in  yon- 
der church.  His  tomb  is  there.  His 
body  lies  on  the  glorious  field  of  Bu- 
saco!"  ("Hurray!")  "I  am  a 
Ringwood."  (Cries  of  "  Hoo  — 
down.  No  Ringwoods  year.  We 
want  have  nn!")  "And  before 
George,  if  I  had  a  vote.  I  would  give 
it  for  the  gallant,  the  good,  the  ad- ' 
mirable,  the  excellent  Hornblow.  ^ 
Some  one  holds  up  the  state  of  the 
poll,  and  Woolcomb  is  ahead !  I  can  ; 
only  say,  electors  of  Whipham,  the  more  \ 
shame  for  you  '.  "  "  Hooray  !  Bravo  !  "  i 
The  boys,  the  people,  the  shouting,  I 
are  all  on  our  side.  The  voting,  I 
regret  to  say,  steadily  continues  in 
favor  of  the  enemy. 

As  Philip  was  making  his  speech, 
an  immense  banging  of  drums  and 
blowing  of  tnimpets  arose  from  the 
l)alcony  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms," 
and  a  something  resembling  the  song 
of  triumph  called,  "  See  the  Conquer- 
ing Hero  <  onu'S,"  was  performed  by 
the  opposition  orchestra.  The  lodge 
gates  of  the  park  were  now  decorated 


with  the  Ringwood  and  Woolcomb 
flags.  They  were  flung  open,  and  a 
dark  green  chariot  with  four  gray 
horses  issued  from  the  park.  On  the 
chaiiot  was  an  Earl's  coronet,  and 
the  people  looked  rather  scared  as  it 
came  towards  us,  and  said,  "  Do  'ee 
look,  now,  't  is  my  Lard's  own  post- 
chaise  !  "  On  former  days  Mr.  Wool- 
comb, and  his  wife  as  his  aide-de- 
camp,  had  driven  through  the  town 
in  an  open  barouche,  but,  to-day  be- 
ing rainy,  preferred  the  shelter  of  the 
old  chariot,  and  we  saw,  presently, 
within,  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  London 
agent,  and  by  his  side  the  darkling 
figure  of  Mr.  Woolcomb.  He  had 
passed  many  agonizing  hours,  we 
were  told  subsequently,  in  attempting 
to  learn  a  speech.  He  cried  over  it. 
He  never  could  get  it  by  heart.  He 
swore  like  a  frantic  child  at  his  wife 
who  endeavored  to  teach  him  his  les- 
son. 

"  Now  's  the  time,  Mr.  Briggs  !  " 
Philip  said  to  Mr.  B.,  our  lawyer's 
clerk,  and  the  intelligent  Briggs 
sprang  down  stairs  to  obey  his  orders. 
Clear  the  road  there  !  make  way  !  was 
heard  from  the  crowd  below  us.  The 
gates  of  our  inn  court-yard,  which  had 
been  closed,  were  suddenly  flung 
open,  and,  amidst  the  roar  of  the 
multitude,  there  issued  out  a  cart 
drawn  by  two  donkeys,  and  driven  by 
a  negro,  beasts  and  mim  all  wearing 
Woolcomb's  colors.  In  the  cart  was 
fixed  a  placard,  on  which  a  most  un- 
deniable likeness  of  Mr.  Woolcomb 
was  designed  :  who  was  made  to  say, 
"  Vote  for  me  !  Am  I  >"ot  a  max 
AXD  A  Bruddkr  ?  "  This  cart 
trotted  out  of  the  yard  of  the  "  Ram," 
and,  with  a  cortege  of  shouting  boys, 
advanced  into  the  market-place,  which 
Mr.  Woolcomb's  carriage  was  then 
crossing.   • 

Before  the  market-house  stands  the 
statue  of  the  late  Earl,  whereof  men- 
tion has  been  made.  In  his  peer's 
robes,  a  hiind  extended,  he  points 
towards  his  park  gates.  An  inscrip- 
tion, not  more  mendacious  than  many 
other    epigraphs,    records   his   ranl^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rHILIP. 


439 


age,  virtues,  and  the  esteem  in  which 
the  people  of  Whipham  held  him. 
The  mulatto  who  drove  the  team  of 
donkeys  was  an  itinerant  tradesman 
who  brought  fish  from  the  bay  to  the 
little  town ;  a  jolly  wag,  a  fellow  of 
indifferent  character,  a  frequenter  of 
all  the  ale-houses  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  rather  celebrated  for  his 
skill  as  a  bruiser.  He  and  his  steeds 
streamed  with  Woolcomb  ribbons. 
With  ironical  shouts  of  "  Woolcomb 
forever  ! "  Yellow  Jack  urged  his 
cart  towards  the  chariot  with  the 
white  horses.  He  took  off  his  hat 
with  mock  respect  to  the  candidate 
sitting  within  the  green  chariot. 
From  the  balcony  of  the  "  Bam  "  we 
could  see  the  two  vehicles  approach- 
ing each  other  ;  and  the  Yellow  Jack 
waving  his  ribboned  hat,  kicking  liis 
bandy  legs  here  and  there,  and  ur- 
ging on  his  donkeys.  What  with  the 
roar  of  the  people,  and  the  banging 
and  trumpeting  of  the  rival  bands, 
we  could  hear  but  little :  but  I  saw 
Woolcomb  thrust  his  yellow  head  out 
of  his  chaise-window,  —  he  pointed 
towards  that  impudent  donkey  cart, 
and  urged,  seemingly,  his  postilions 
to  ride  it  down.  Plying  their  whips, 
the  post-bovs  galloped  towards  Yellow 
Jack  and  liis  vehicle,  a  yelling  crowd 
scattering  from  before  the  horses,  and 
rallying  behind  them,  to  utter  execra- 
tions at  Woolcomb.  His  horses  were 
frightened,  no  doubt ;  for  just  as 
Yellow  Jack  wheeled  nimbly  round 
one  side  of  the  Ringwood  statue, 
Woolcomb's  horses  were  all  huddled 
together  and  plunging  in  confusion 
beside  it,  the  fore-wheel  came  in  ab- 
rupt collision  with  the  stonework  of 
the  statue  railing :  and  then  we  saw 
the  vehicle  turn  over  altogether,  one 
of  the  wheelers  do^vn  with  its  rider, 
and  the  leaders  kicking,  plunging, 
lashing  out  right  and  left,  wild  and 
maddened  with  fear.  Mr.  Philip's 
countenance,  I  am  hound  to  say, 
wore  a  most  guilty  and  (|ueer  expres- 
sion. This  accident,  this  collision, 
this  injury,  perhaps  death  of  Wool- 
comb and  his  lawyer,  aiose  out  of  our 


fine  joke  about  the  Man  and  the 
Brotlier. 

We  dashed  down  the  stairs  from 
the  "  Kam,"  —  Hornblow,  Philip,  and 
half  a  dozen  more,  —  and  made  a  way 
through  tlie  crowd  towards  tlie  car- 
riage, with  its  prostrate  occupants. 
The  nrob  made  way  civilly  for  the 
popular  candidate,  —  the  losing  candi- 
date. When  we  reached  the  chaise, 
the  traces  had  been  cut :  the  horses 
were  free  :  the  fallen  postilion  was  up 
and  rubbing  his  leg  :  and,  as  soon  as 
the  wheelers  were  taken  out  of  the 
chaise,  Woolcomb  emerged  from  it. 
He  had  said  from  within  (acconi])any- 
ing  his  speech  witli  many  oaths,  which 
need  not  be' repeated,  and  showing  a 
just  sense  of  his  danger),  "  Cut  the 
traces,  hang  you !  And  take  the 
horses  away  ;  I  can  wait  until  they  're 
gone.  I'm  sittin'  on  my  lawyer;  I 
ain't  goin'  to  linve  »»//  head  kicked 
off  by  tliose  wheelers."  —  And  just  as 
we  reached  the  fallen  post-chaise  he 
emerged  from  it,  laughing  and  say- 
ing, "  Lie  still,  you  old  beggar  !  "  to 
Mr.  Bradgate,  who  was  writhing  un- 
derneath him.  His  issue  from  the 
carriage  was  received  with  shouts  of 
laughter,  which  increased  prodigious- 
ly when  Yellow  Jack,  nimbly  clam- 
bering up  the  statue-railings,  thrust 
the  outstretched  arm  of  the  statue 
thronch  the  picture  of  the  Man  and 
the  Brother,  and  left  that  cartoon 
flapping  in  the  air  over  Woolcomb's 
head. 

Then  a  shout  arose,  the  like  of 
which  has  seldom  been  heard  in  that 
quiet  little  town.  Then  Woolcomb, 
who  had  been  quite  good-humored  as 
he  issued  out  of  the  broken  post- 
chaise,  began  to  shriek,  curse,  and  re- 
vile more  slirilly  than  before  ;  and  was 
heard  in  the  mulst  of  his  oaths,  and 
wrath,  to  sav  "  He  would  give  any 
man  a  shillin'  who  would  bring  him 
down  that  confounded  thing  !  "  Then 
scared,  bruised,  contused,  confiiscd, 
poor  Mr.  Bradgate  came  out  of  the 
carriage,  his  employer  taking  not  tlie 
least  notice  of  him. 

Hornblow  hoped  Woolcomb   waa 


440 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


not  hurt,  on  which  the  little  gen- 
tleman turned  round  and  said  "  Hurt  ? 
no ;  who  are  you !  Is  no  fellah 
goin'  to  bring  me  down  that  con- 
founded thing  ?  I  '11  give  a  shillin', 
I  say,  to  the  fellah  who  does  !  " 

"  A  shilling  is  offered  for  that  pic- 
ture !  "  shouts  Philip  with  a  red  face, 
and  wild  with  excitement.  "  Who 
will  take  a  whole  shilling  for  that 
beauty  1 " 

On  which  Woolcomb  began  to 
scream,  curse,  and  revile  more  bitterly 
than  before.  "  You  here  1  Hang 
you,  why  are  you  here  ?  Don't  come 
bullyin'  me.  Take  that  fellah  away, 
some  of  you  fellahs.  Bradgate,  come 
to  my  committee-room.  I  won't  stay 
here,  I  say.  Let 's  have  the  beast  of 
a  carriage,  and  —  Well,  what's  up 
now  1  " 

While  he  was  talking,  shrieking, 
and  swearing,  half  a  dozen  shoulders 
in  the  crowd  had  raised  the  carriage 
up  on  its  three  wheels.  The  panel 
which  had  fallen  towards  the  ground 
had  split  against  a  stone,  and  a  great 
gap  was  seen  in  the  side.  A  lad  was 
about  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  or- 
ifice, when  Woolcomb  turned  upon 
him. 

"  Hands  off,  you  little  beggar  !  " 
he  cried,  "no  priggin'  !  Drive 
away  some  of  these  fellahs,  you  post- 
boys !  Don't  stand  rubbin'  your 
knee  there,  you  great  fool.  What 's 
this  ?  "  and  he  thrusts  his  own  hand 
into  the  place  where  the  boy  had  just 
been  marauding. 

In  the  old  travelling  carriages  there 
used  to  be  a  well  or  sword-case,  in 
which  travellers  used  to  put  swords 
and  pistols  in  days  when  such  weap- 
ons of  defence  were  needful  on  the 
road.  Out  of  this  sword-case  of  Lord 
Ringwood's  old  post-chariot,  Wool- 
comb did  not  draw  a  sword,  but  a 
foolscap  paper  folded  and  tied  with  a 
red  tape.  And  he  began  to  read  the 
superscription,  —  "  Will  of  the  Right 
Honorable  Joiin,  Earl  of  Ringwood. 
Bradgate,  Smith,  and  Burrows." 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  It 's  the  will 
he  had  back    from   my  office,   and 


which  I  thought  he  had  destroyed. 
My  dear  fellow,  I  congratulate  you 
with  all  my  heart !  "  And  herewith 
Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer  began  to  shake 
Philip's  hand  with  much  warmth. 
"  Allow  me  to  look  at  that  paper. 
Yes,  this  is  in  my  handwriting.  Let 
us  come  into  the  '  Ringwood  Arms ' 
—  the  '  Ram  ',  —  anywhere,  and  read 
it  to  you  ! " 

.  .  .  Here  we  looked  up  to  the  bal- 
cony of  the  "Ringwood  Arms,"  and 
beheld  a  great  placard  announcing 
the  state  of  the  poll  at  I  o'clock. 

Woolcomb      .        .        .216 
hoknblow      ...        92 

"  We  are  beaten,  "  said  Mr.  Horn- 
blow,  very  good-naturedly.  "  We 
may  take  our  flag  down.  Mr.  Wool- 
comb, I  congratulate  you.  "  "  I 
knew  we  should  do  it,"  said  Mr. 
Woolcomb,  putting  out  a  little 
yellow-kidded  hand.  "Had  all  the 
votes  beforehand,  —  knew  we  should 
do  the  trick,  I  say.  Hi !  you —  What- 
do-you-call-'im  —  Bradgate  !  What  is 
it  about,  that  will?  It  does  not  do 
any  good  to  that  beggar,  docs  it?  " 
and  with  laughter  and  shouts,  and 
cries  of  "  Woolcomb  forever,"  and 
"Give  us  something  to  drink,  your 
honor,"  the  successful  candidate 
marched  into  his  hotel. 

And  was  the  tawny  Woolcomb 
the  fiiry  who  was  to  rescue  Philip 
from  grief,  debt,  and  poverty  ?  Yes. 
And  the  old  post-chaise  of  the  late 
Lord  Ringwood  was  the  fairy  cha- 
riot. You  have  read  in  a  past  chap- 
ter how  the  old  lord,  being  trans- 
ported with  anger  against  Philip, 
desired  his  lawyer  to  bring  back  a 
will  in  which  he  had  left  a  hand- 
some legacy  to  the  young  man,  as 
his  mother's  son.  My  Lord  had  in- 
tended to  make  a  provision  for  Mrs. 
Firmin,  when  she  was  his  dutiful 
niece,  and  yet  under  his  roof.  When 
she  eloped  with  Mr.  Firmin,  Lord 
Ringwood  vowed  he  would  give  his 
niece  nothing.  But  he  was  pleased 
with  the  independent  and  forgiving 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


441 


spirit  exhibited  by  her  son ;  and 
being  a  person  of  much  grim  hu- 
mor, I  dare  say  chuckled  inwardly  at 
thinking  how  furious  the  Twysdcns 
would  be,  when  they  found  Philip 
was  the  old  lord's  favorite.  Then 
Mr.  Philip  chose  to  be  insubordinate, 
and  to  excite  the  wrath  of  his  great- 
uncle,  who  desired  to  have  his  will 
back  again.  He  put  the  document 
into  his  carriage,  in  the  secret  box, 
as  he  drove  away  on  that  last  jour- 
ney, in  the  midst  of  which  death 
seized  him.  Had  he  survived,  would 
he  have  made  another  will,  leaving 
out  all  mention  of  Philip?  Who 
shall  say  t  My  Lord  made  and  can- 
celled many  wills.  This  certainly, 
duly  drawn  and  witnessed,  was  the 
last  he  ever  signed  ;  and  by  it  Philip 
is  put  in  possession  of  a  sum  of  money 
which  is  sufficient  to  insure  a  provis- 
ion for  those  whom  he  loves.  Kind 
readers,  I  know  not  whether  the 
fairies  be  rife  now,  or  banished  from 
this  work-a-day  earth,  but  Philip's 
biographer  wishes  you  some  of  those 
blessings  which  never  forsook  Philip 
in  his  trials  :  a  dear  wife  and  chil- 
dren to  love  you,  a  true  friend  or  two 
to  stand  by  you,  and  in  health  or  sick- 
ness a  clear  conscience,  and  a  kindly 
heart.  If  you  fall  upon  the  way,  may 
succor  reach  you.  And  may  you,  in 
your  turn,  have  help  and  pity  in  store 
for  the  unfortunate  whom  you  over- 
take on  life's  journey. 

Would  you  care  to  know  what  hap- 
pened to  the  other  personages  of  our 
narrative  ■?  Old  Twysden  is  still  bab- 
bling and  bragging  at  clubs,  and 
though  aged  is  not  the  least  venera- 
ble. He  has  quarrelled  with  his  son 
for  not  calling  Woolcomb  out,  when 
that  unhappy  difference  arose  between 
the  Black  Prince  and  his  wife.  He 
says  his  family  has  been  treated  with 
cruel  injustice  by  the  late  Lord  Ring- 
wood,  but  as  soon  as  Philip  had  a 
little  fortune  left  him  he  instantly 
was  reconciled  to  his  wife's  nephew. 
There  are  other  friends  of  Firmin's 
who  were  kind  enough  to  him  in  his 
evil  days,  but  cannot  pardon  his  pros- 
19* 


pcrity.  Being  in  that  benevolent 
mood  wliicli  must  accompany  any 
leave-taking,  wc  will  not  name  these 
ill-wishers  of  Philip,  but  wish  that  all 
readers  of  his  story  may  have  like 
reason  to  make  some  of  their  acquaint- 
ances angry. 

Uur  dear  Little  Sister  would  never 
live  with  Philip  and  his  Charlotte, 
though  the  latter  tspecially  and  with 
all  her  heart  besought  Mrs.  Brandon 
to  come  to  them.  That  pure  and 
useful  and  modest  life  ended  a  few 
years  since.  She  died  of  a  fever 
caught  from  one  of  her  patients.  She 
would  not  allow  Philip  or  Charlotte 
to  come  near  her.  She  said  she  was 
justly  punished  for  being  so  proud  as 
to  refuse  to  live  with  them.  All  her 
little  store  she  left  to  Philip.  He  has 
now  in  his  desk  the  five  guineas 
which  she  gave  him  at  his  marriage  ; 
and  J.  J.  has  made  a  little  picture  of 
her,  with  her  sad  smile  and  her  sweet 
face,  which  hangs  in  Philip's  drawing- 
room,  where  father,  mother,  and  chil- 
dren talk  of  the  Little  Sister  as 
though  she  were  among  them  still. 

She  was  dreadfully  agitated  when 
the  news  came  from  New  York  of 
Doctor  Pirmin's  second  marriage. 
"  His  second  ?  His  third  ? "  she  said, 
"The  villain,  the  villain!"  That 
strange  delusion  which  we  have  de- 
scribed as  sometimes  possessing  her 
increased  in  intensity  after  this  news. 
More  than  ever,  she  believed  that 
Philip  was  her  own  child.  She  came 
wildly  to  him,  and  cried  that  his 
father  had  forsaken  them.  It  Avas 
only  when  she  was  excited  that  she 
gave  utterance  to  this  opinion.  Doc- 
tor Goodenough  says  that  though 
generally  silent  about  it,  it  never  left 
her. 

Upon  his  marriage  Dr.  Firmm 
wrote  one  of  his  long  letters  to  his 
son,  announcing  the  event.  He  de- 
scribed the  wealth  of  the  lady  (a 
widow  from  Norfolk,  in  Virginia)  to 
whom  he  was  about  to  be  united.  Ho 
would  pay  back,  ay,  with  interest, 
every  pound,  every  dollar,  every  cent 
he  owed  bis  son.      Was  the  lady 


442 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


wealthy  1  "We  had  only  the  poor 
doctor  8  word. 

Three  months  after  his  marriage 
he  died  of  yellow  fever,  on  his  wife's 
estate.  It  was  then  the  Little  Sister 
came  to  see  us  in  widow's  mourning, 
very  wild  and  flushed.  She  bade  oar 
servant  say,  "  Mrs.  Firmin  was  at  the 
door  "  ;  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
man,  who  knew  her.  She  had  even 
caused  a  mourning-card  to  be  printed. 
Ah,  there  is  rest  now  for  that  little 
fevered  brain,  and  peace,  let  us  pray, 
for  that  fond  faithful  heart. 

The  mothers  in  Philip's  household 
and  mine  have  already  made  a  match 
between  our  children.     We  had  a 


great  gathering  the  other  day  at  Roe- 
hampton,  at  the  house  of  our  friend, 
Mr.  Clive  Newcome  (whose  tall  boy, 
my  wife  says,  was  very  attentive  to 
our  Helen),  and,  having  been  edu- 
cated at  the  same  school,  we  sat  ever 
so  long  at  dessert,  telling  old  stories, 
whilst  the  children  danced  to  piano 
music  on  the  lawn.  Dance  on  the 
lawn,  young  folks,  whilst  the  elders 
talk  in  the  sliade !  What?  The 
night  is  falling :  we  have  talked 
enough  over  our  wine :  and  it  is  time 
to  go  home  ?  Good  night.  Good 
night,  friends,  old  and  young  1  The 
night  will  fall :  the  stories  must  end ; 
and  the  best  friends  must  part 


THE  END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


